Slip of the Mind
by NonaNina
Summary: The Joker breaks out of Arkham post TDK and brings along a fellow patient. What will happen when he realizes she has touched on emotions he thought long dead? Joker/Harley
1. Lizzie Borden

- Author Note - The Joker and all other Batman characters owned by DC Comics. The Joker in this story is Heath Ledger's disturbing, divine creation. Please note the Joker will be seen starting in chapter three, I needed to set the stage for him so please stick with me; also I've taken a little creative license with Harley Quinn because I just don't see Ledger's Joker attracted to the Harley from the comics. This is my first story and its been rolling in my head since I first saw TDK so please read and review. Thanks so much!

----------

Frank W. Peterman had seen a lot of freaks in the twenty years he had worked at Arkham Asylum, but no one, not even that crazy bastard called the Joker, held the power to frighten him like Patient 73321. He stared into the safety glass window with a frown.

Floor D, fifth floor at Arkham Asylum, was where the worst of the worst at the institution were held. Jonathan Crane, aka The Scarecrow, Carmine Falcone, Ricky 'The Razor' Phelps, The Joker, Muhammad Robie, and Patient 73321.

Crane was a former psychiatrist at Arkham who was slightly off himself and had developed a special fear toxin he'd used quite liberally on his former patients as well as the general populace of Gotham. Falcone, once head of the Gotham Mafia, was now completely insane thanks to Crane using the fear toxin; Falcone had in the past feared no one and now was terrified of everything. Ricky The Razor was a scrawny, but surprisingly strong, pervert who'd been convicted of raping, torturing, and murdering twenty-three women in Gotham. The Joker was... the Joker and he actually seemed the sanest of the bunch despite his frequent, odd giggles. Muhammad Robie was a gang banger who'd run the Carbon Street Killers and who was responsible for murdering several police officers - one with his bare hands. Patient 73321 was convicted of murdering her parents and three siblings with a hatchet.

Sitting cross-legged in the center of Cell 12D was a lonely figure.

Slender as a blade of saw grass, wearing a dirty, pale blue hospital gown was 73321. A tangle of oily, matted hair twisted like snakes and fell around the patient's waist; it had been so long since she'd had a proper shower that most of the staff had forgotten what color her hair really was under the grime. Frank dimly recalled her hair being a pretty shade of strawberry blonde when she'd first arrived. It was the restraints she wore on her face which never failed to make his skin crawl.

A white mask constructed of hard latex was strapped to the patient's head and locked in place; only Dr. Thurmond had the key and Thurmond had only allowed the mask to be removed twice in the eleven years Patient 73321 had been at Arkham. There was something both eerie and sinister in the lack of expression the smooth plastic held. Two holes for the eyes and a small gash for the mouth gave the impression Patient 73321 was related to little gray aliens.

Peterman shifted uneasily when a pair of blue eyes, as cold and dark as the Atlantic, locked unto his own gaze. "Hey, Mike, are you sure Gabe's gotta clean in there today? 73321 is giving us the eyeball again."

Mike Sanchez had worked at Arkham in security only a few years longer than Frank and none of the patients bothered him. He grunted and shrugged. "Thurmond wants her cell cleaned up so the nurses can get her presentable. Seems the new District Attorney wants to interview her."

"Are you kidding me?" Frank gaped at his partner. "Kennison must be a real nutcase herself if she wants to sit across from Lizzie!"

The staff, security and medical alike, had long ago nicknamed Patient 73321, Lizzie Borden. In fact, Frank had to strain to remember 73321's real name it had been so long since he'd heard it mentioned.

Mike snorted. "Nope, I'm as serious as death. I heard they're reinvestigating her case; seems 73321 has a new and improved public defender."

A bent old man, limping slightly, and pushing a mop bucket cut off Frank's retort. "Have you guys restrained, Miss Sunshine? I'd like to make this quick. One of the inmates on 4C puked all over the shower room."

The cells on 5D were spacious, possessing near hotel quality, in comparison to the accommodations the rest of the Arkham patients were afforded. Padded floors and walls with a small, well barred window that looked down into the exercise yard. Each cell also had a fairly high ceiling, a padded bunk bolted to the wall, a simple toilet and sink, and restraint mechanisms that could be lowered from the ceiling.

The walls and steel door were thick so that no sound escaped them unless the staff turned on the speaker system. Frank flicked a button and frowned at the static buzz which bloomed briefly before dying down. "Okay, 73321, we're coming in to restrain you. Gabe needs to clean your cell."

Even, calm breathing was her only response.

Frank relaxed as she slowly rose to her feet and held her arms out in front of her like some sort of peace offering. This meant that 73321 was going to cooperate; she had in no way verbally communicated she would, instead always extending her hands.

73321 never spoke - not once in eleven years, not to anyone, including her psychiatrist and the only visitor she received once a month like clock work.

Mike nodded in agreement and opened the door.

Frank took a step back as the stench hit him; it was the overwhelming stink only an unwashed human body could give off. Swallowing the bile pooling at the back of his throat, Frank straightened his back and strolled into the cell.

Mike followed, growling in disgust at the foul odor.

The pair made quick work of the patient and exited the cell.

Frank nodded at the old man; his eyes watering. "Whew! I don't envy you, my man. She's trussed up like a Christmas turkey - you have the all clear."

The hunched old man merely pushed the bucket containing his cleaning supplies into the cell.

----------

Gabe Norris was seventy-five and had worked at the asylum for over fifty years. He'd seen everything from patients rolling around in their own waste to the carnage left by Crane's fear toxin as the inmates and patients rioted and slaughtered one another.

Once, he'd been forced to clean up one patient's innards from the solarium on 3B after one of the paranoid schizophrenics decided that he heard radio signals from the devil broadcasting out of his friend's large intestine.

Gabe had seen a lot, but he'd never seen anything as sad as the young woman straight-jacketed and chained to the ceiling in cell 12D. She was a little thing, not more than 5'3" and maybe ninety pounds soaking wet; looking like someone's lost child. There she stood, letting her head fall back as she stood staring up at the grubby ceiling.

Sure, she smelled bad, but who wouldn't when you weren't allowed to bathe on a regular basis?

73321 spent the majority of her time either strapped to her bunk or wearing a straight jacket; she couldn't wash herself and the staff didn't exactly fight to help her out.

Gabe shook his head as he filled the bucket with water at her sink. "Don't worry, Sunshine, life has to get better. You'll see." He added a capful of detergent before grabbing his mop. "I hear your new lawyer is top shelf!"

73321 turned her head and let her gaze fall on him. Eyes the color of sapphire stared out from the blank white mask she was forced to wear. More often than not, her eyes were just as expressionless as the mask, but today there seemed to be curiosity swimming in those dark pools.

Gabe was aware he was probably the only person at Arkham who spoke to her longer than a few seconds; including her own doctor. "Now, old Gabe could be wrong, but I'm thinking if this new lawyer can get the District Attorney down here you've got some real hope."

He mopped around the cell efficiently before scrubbing her toilet and sink and changing the filthy pad that covered her bunk. Gabe tried not to take too long, he was well aware the guards in the doorway didn't approve of his compassion for 73321, but he didn't cut any corners as he scrubbed.

Perhaps she was a monster, Gabe didn't know, but he knew she was as human as he was.

She was a human being and she deserved basic human dignity.

Gabe Norris practiced this belief with all the patients and inmates; he was compassionate, he treated them as kindly as he could, and not one rude word had ever escaped his lips. So while some staff, and many guards, had been attacked - he never had so much as a finger laid on him by any inmate during his career.

He looked up to find her studying him. "Now, you keep your chin up, Sunshine."

Gabe was certain from the way her eyes had taken on such life; she was smiling under the mask.

Nodding, he gathered his supplies, storing them in the now empty bucket, and left the cell.

Sanchez and Peterman were staring at him as though a second head had popped out of his neck.

"How can you stand talking to her?" Sanchez asked bitterly. "She's a freaking, sicko murderer!"

"Killed her entire family with a damn axe!" Peterman pointed out quietly.

Gabe smirked. "Allegedly killed them with an axe, boys. Her new lawyer said on the news she was falsely accused and what if she was?"

The guards shared an uncomfortable glance before Sanchez shook his head. "If she didn't do it, I feel bad for her, but after eleven years in this joint she's probably crazy as a loon."

"Yeah," Peterman added bluntly. "I doubt she's ever getting out."

Gabe shrugged and began pushing the bucket down the dark corridor. "Maybe not."

----------

Sharon Kennison tapped her pen on the legal pad before her.

The conference room that Doctor Thomas Thurmond had provided for the interview was positively claustrophobic; a small square table sat in a musty, dinky room no bigger than a closet. Three of the four chairs were inhabited by Sharon, Dr. Thurmond, and Earl Finley, Chief Public Defender for Gotham. Two large, well muscled guards stood on either side of the door adding to the sense of uncomfortable closeness she felt.

"May I ask why, after eleven years, this case is being reviewed?" Dr. Thurmond drawled as he relaxed in the uncomfortable metal chair. "I think Gotham's public funds would be better spent assuring the Joker is institutionalized here for the rest of his days."

Earl Finley pushed his tortoiseshell glasses up his nose. "Dr. Thurmond, the Joker is also my client, and I will thank you not to make any preliminary judgments before he has his day in court."

"Of course," the older man replied suavely. "Please forgive me."

Finley shook his head. "Thank God my client has a different psychiatrist than Miss Quinzel. At least the Joker has a shot, which is more than I suspect Miss Quinzel ever had with you, Doctor."

Sharon cleared her throat. "Excuse me, gentlemen, but I believe we should behave as adults when Miss Quinzel arrives." She turned her attention to the man directly across from her. Thomas Thurmond looked like he belonged on the cover of GQ and not in the most dangerous lunatic asylum in the country. "I understand that Harleen doesn't speak at all, is this true?"

Thurmond inclined his graying head. "That is correct, Ms. Kennison. My diagnosis is that Harleen Quinzel is suffering from deep psychosis and possibly depression as well; although her blood work has never indicated any disparity in brain chemistry."

"I have a psychiatrist flying in from San Francisco and he believes based on the symptoms I described there is a chance Miss Quinzel is suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. There is the very real possibility she witnessed the murders and didn't perpetrate them; which would make her the victim," Finley finished hotly.

"What a load of bunk… "

Sharon slammed her hand on the table. "Look, now is neither the time or place for this, gentlemen! I've been asked by Commissioner Gordon to review this case file because he felt this young woman did not receive a fair trial at the time. I'm willing to listen to each of you, but I will not be reduced to a referee, understood?"

"Yes."

"Absolutely."

She nodded and flipped open the file on Harleen Quinzel.

At the time of the murders, Harleen was sixteen years old. According to family, friends, teachers, and co-workers, there was no hint of mental disease or even unhappiness in the Quinzel home. Joseph and Colleen Quinzel were both bright, college educated, well adjusted individuals with what appeared to be a happy, loving marriage; Joseph was a Gotham detective paired with Jim Gordon, and Colleen was a math teacher at St. Mary's Catholic High School. Harleen was the oldest child, a bright, sunny girl involved in gymnastics and swimming, she had a high grade point average and wanted to go to college by all reports. The two younger brothers, Andrew and Patrick, were thirteen and eleven, both considered good, if mischievous, boys. Little Sabrina, nicknamed Bree, was only four at the time of the attack and the state of her remains had sickened twenty year homicide veterans.

Sharon had seen tragedies before - far too many to count, but this went beyond the pale. The crime scene photographs were horrifying and stomach churning to say the least. GPD Crime Scene Investigators had documented every shred of evidence to perfection and there was plenty of evidence to cast guilt on Harleen.

One photo of the girl showed severe abrasions to her arms and her hands were covered with thick, oozing gashes; the evidence would indicate both defensive wounds and those of a killer. Most murderers wielding blades never realized they themselves were going to be cut in the struggle over eighty percent of the time.

Harleen Quinzel could very well have murdered her family. But why? There was no logical, or even illogical, reason for such staggering violence.

Sharon remembered the grave, pleading expression on Commissioner Jim Gordon's face in their earlier meeting. She'd known the man nearly six years and had never seen him so upset...

_... "I knew Harleen very well, Sharon. Jesus, she's my goddaughter! I'm telling you that this girl wasn't capable of violence."_

_The Commissioner sat quietly at his desk; his chair turned toward the wall so he could shift his gaze between her and the huge windows overlooking downtown Gotham. He seemed to have aged a decade in the few weeks since the Joker had been apprehended._

_Sharon quirked a brow. "Jim, obviously you're very fond of this young lady, but she's been in Arkham for eleven years without any proof to indicate her innocence." She made her voice as kind as possible. "I believe you can know someone well and never see the madness beneath. Look at how badly the mob misjudged the Joker… "_

_"Harleen Quinzel is **nothing** like the Joker!" The anger in Jim's voice surprised Sharon and she jumped. He sighed and leaned back in his chair; wiping both hands over his face. "I'm sorry, Sharon, I'm a little on edge right now."_

_"It's understandable," she stated quietly._

_Jim Gordon turned and faced her full on; the sincerity in his deep blue eyes pinning Sharon to her seat. "Look, I need your help here, Sharon, please. Just look into the case, okay? I failed this girl miserably, I failed her entire goddamn family… " he shrugged weakly. "Joe Quinzel was a brother to me, I loved all of them and so did Barbara. I couldn't do anything to clear Harleen's name when this tragedy happened, but I know in my heart she didn't do this."_

_Sharon shook her head and stared out at the Gotham streets. "People will say this is corruption and we're trading favors."_

_Jim chuckled weakly. "The press has been screaming corruption for years; this will be one of the few cases where they're wrong."_

_"Let's say Harleen is innocent and she's released," Sharon began gingerly. "Clearly, she has psychological issues now. Don't you believe a mental care facility is the best place for her until she shows some improvement?"_

_Jim dipped his head. "I won't dispute the fact Harleen will need help, but she can't be kept at Arkham. I'll find someplace else, a treatment program where she won't come into contact with psychopathic serial killers and mass murderers." He pushed his hand through his dark hair; the newly emerging silver strands standing out in the light. "I've received some disturbing allegations Harleen was… abused when she first arrived at Arkham. Just talk to Earl Finley at the Gotham Public Defender's office, he's taking up the case for me."_

_"Finley?" Sharon sputtered. "He's also handling the Joker's case."_

_"Will there be a problem?"_

_"I sure as hell hope not." _

_For the first time in days, Jim Gordon smiled. "Thank you, Sharon. Barbara and I appreciate you looking into Harleen's case."_

_Sharon Kennison stood and shook Jim's hand. "I'll do my best, but if Harleen is guilty, she's staying put."_

_Jim nodded briskly. "I wouldn't have it any other way."_

_"As long as we understand one another… "_

... The door banging open brought Sharon back into reality.

Two guards shuffled in the door with a tiny woman trapped between them; the female prisoner was so lithe she reminded Sharon of a ballerina. As quick as possible the men shackled her to the closest chair which was bolted to the concrete floor in turn.

Harleen Quinzel, aka Patient 73321, wasn't a pretty picture.

Tangled, matted hair floated in knots around the woman's face; a face which was covered by a plain white mask, eerily reminiscent of a theater mask. Shadowed blue eyes, which held no expression at all, stared out at Sharon lifelessly. The mouth hole was a straight slit where a small amount of food and drink could make it through, but nothing else. She wore the standard gray scrubs Arkham assigned to all patients and little white booties designed to keep her feet from becoming cold.

Sharon had never seen anyone in such a state at the asylum - not even the Joker.

She blinked in shock before gazing at Thurmond. "What the hell is strapped to Quinzel's face?"

The Doctor, so highly esteemed in Gotham society, was flustered by the anger in the young District Attorney's voice. He shrugged casually. "Miss Quinzel was issued a face mask to protect the staff."

"Why?"

Earl Finley switched on his digital recorder and eagerly leaned toward his nemesis.

Thurmond pulled at his collar. "There was an incident and I determined the mask was warranted."

Sharon's face grew red. "Look, I don't enjoy being mindfucked, so just spit it out and stop trying to fill me full of bullshit, Dr. Thurmond."

"Miss Quinzel," Thurmond cleared his throat. "physically assaulted three guards and caused serious bodily injuries to all three men."

Almost as though on cue Sharon and Earl's heads snapped in time toward the ever silent patient at the end of the table. Disbelief was written on both their faces as they stared at the petite, fairy-like creature chained to her chair between two hulking guards.

Sharon began to scribble furiously on her pad; her hand flying across the page.

Earl Finley smirked at the pale, sweating psychiatrist beside him. "This is rich! Do you really expect anyone to believe this slip of a girl took on three trained, physically fit men and kicked their collective asses?"

"I have proof!" Thurmond countered hotly. "We documented the attack to protect Arkham from a lawsuit."

Sharon Kennison might have been the youngest DA in Gotham history, but she was also a shrewd prosecuting attorney; Harvey Dent and Rachel Dawes had placed a great deal of responsibility on her slim shoulders and she had never let them down. Mayor Garcia, a calculating, but honest politician, had appointed her to take Harvey's place until a proper election could be held in a few months time. She intended to bust every scumbag from Arkham to the Narrows and back again if that's what it took to clean up the city and honor the memory of Harvey and Rachel.

"I want this proof of yours on my desk tomorrow morning." Sharon turned her attention to Harleen Quinzel. "Good morning, Miss Quinzel, I'm Sharon Kennison from the District Attorney's office. May I ask you a few questions?"

Harleen never moved, she didn't even appear to blink as she gazed at a fixed point beyond Sharon's shoulder.

Earl Finley leaned toward the DA. "May I?"

Sharon nodded. "Be my guest."

"Harleen," he began quietly. "Ms. Kennison is here to try and help you. Do you remember Sgt. Jim Gordon, your godfather?" It was well documented the new Commissioner had visited Harleen Quinzel the last Sunday of every month for the past eleven years; except during the Joker crisis.

For the first time, Harleen Quinzel stirred.

Sapphire eyes filled with wariness turned to her new attorney before flickering in Sharon's direction.

Finley had seen this reaction a few times before, once in Jim Gordon's presence. Smiling, he nodded at the woman across the table. "Jim Gordon has asked Ms. Kennison to assist me in trying to get you the hell out of here."

Sharon could see some sort of internal struggle going on in Harleen; it showed in those haunted, shadowed eyes of hers. There was stark fear followed by a brief expression of hope which disappeared almost as quickly as it had arrived leaving only suspicion in those unsettling orbs.

Slowly, Harleen lowered her head so she was staring at the scratched, mutilated table top.

Encouraged, Sharon leaned toward her. "Jim cares so much about you, Harleen. If you could just answer a few questions… "

Without warning, Harleen Quinzel bashed her head against the table.

Sharon jumped back as heart-rending screams poured out of the now wildly flailing woman across the table. "What the hell?!"

Earl Finley was so startled he dropped his digital recorder on the floor.

Dr. Thurmond was on his feet, his own expression filled with incredulity. "My god! 73321 hasn't made a sound since she arrived - not even when she tried to tear out Phil Lakaski's throat with her teeth." He pointed at the uneasy looking guards. "Get this patient back to her cell and into a straightjacket!"

The guards struggled to unlock the patient's restraints and haul her up from the chair. For such a small woman, her ability to struggle was unparalleled. She seemed able to contort her body wildly as she resisted being dragged from the room.

Raw, emotional screams echoed through the room before slowly fading away.

Thurmond wore a self-righteous expression as he straightened the white coat he wore. "As I stated earlier, Miss Quinzel is highly disturbed. Her out of control behavior only proves her guilt… "

"On the contrary," Sharon interrupted angrily. "Harleen Quinzel's behavior only proves she is _disturbed_, not that she killed anyone. I want her records on my desk in the morning - and I mean everything."

Thomas Thurmond snorted. "Doctor - patient confidentiality."

Earl Finley flashed a grim smile at the older man. "Maybe that rule applies to Ms. Kennison, but it doesn't apply to me. I want my client's full clinical record as well as any surveillance records Arkham might have. I expect it will arrive at my office tomorrow no later than nine a.m."

"And if Mr. Finley doesn't receive the information," Sharon added sweetly. "I'll come down on your ass like a ton of bricks."

Thomas Thurmond turned wide eyes first on Finley and then on Kennison before sputtering, _"Damn lawyers"_, under his breath. He promptly retreated from the room leaving the pair alone.

Earl Finley flashed a wide, pearly grin at Sharon. "Happy to have your help, Ms. Kennison."

Sharon walked slowly down the wide passage toward the reception desk. "Glad to be of assistance in this case, Finley. I wonder… "

When they reached reception, Earl signed out swiftly and handed Sharon the pen. "You wonder what?"

Sharon stared at the log book blankly. "I wonder what the hell Harleen Quinzel witnessed the night her family was killed."

"So you believe she's innocent?" Earl questioned eagerly.

Sharon signed out and turned her face toward him. "I'm eighty percent sure she didn't do it, but she's obviously terrified of someone or something. This is probably the first innocent client you've had, Earl."

He threw back his head and laughed. "Not really! We'll see how my other client holds up in court this summer."

"The Joker may be a madman, but he's not innocent," Sharon countered swiftly.

Earl smirked. "We'll see what a jury decides. I think without Batman hanging around, the Joker has a better chance at being released than you might think."

Sharon simply rolled her eyes in disgust as they walked out of Arkham together.


	2. Getting to Know You

-Author Note- Thanks to overlordofnobodies, Goddess of Glomps, and Hellion kitty-kat for reviewing! I really appreciate you taking the time. This chapter is a short one, but its sole purpose is to shed more light on Harleen and how she thinks/acts. There is a tiny bit of the Joker at the end, just a tad. A friend of mine asked me why I didn't think the Nolanverse Joker would be attracted to the DC comicverse version of Harley. Simply put, Nolanverse Joker said it straight out in TDK to Rachel, 'You have some fight in you, I like that.' Just thought I'd shed some light on my previous vague author's notes. Still don't own the Joker! Please review, it really does brighten my day!

----------

_"Mom?" There was no verbal answer to Harleen' s call; only a strange wet, smacking noise. The house was never this quiet and Harleen's stomach tightened in response. She set down her back pack on the bottom stair. "Mom, are you here?"_

_The interior of the house was cool compared to the searing heat of the Gotham summer just outside the door. A trickle of sweat beaded on Harleen's temple before slowly arching a trail down her cheek and dripping from her jaw onto her tee shirt. She itched away the tickling sensation absently as she left the hall for the kitchen._

_Harleen's eyes widened as they took in the swatch of red gore painting the center island countertop._

_The scarlet of the stain stood out against the pale cream of the ceramic tile._

_Adrenaline pumped through Harleen's veins and her heart pounded in her chest. "Mom? Andy? Pat?" She fell silent for a moment and hugged herself against the sudden chill she felt. "Bree?"_

_No one answered and her words echoed above the strange wet squelching Harleen could still discern._

_The sky was darkening outside and Harleen knew her father would be home soon. An inner voice she'd never heard before urged her to call him and wait outside, but a soft groan caught Harleen's attention._

_It sounded like her mother._

_"Mom?" Harleen called softly as she edged herself into the dining room._

_Sprawled on the floor like an abandoned rag doll, every inch of Colleen Quinzel's skin was painted a vivid ruby that glistened, jewel-like, in the last dying embers of sunset. The once beautiful woman's features had been bashed into a pulp, teeth littered the floor around her head, and Harleen only recognized her mother by the woman's vibrant gray eyes._

_Horror, raw and numbing, rushed through Harleen's body, freezing the blood in her veins. She dropped to her knees and grimaced at the soggy plop her legs made on the sopping carpet. "What happened, Momma?" Harleen could barely see her mother's chest rise and fall. "Mom, oh god, what should I do?"_

_Colleen's eyes went wide and her bleeding lips moved faintly, but coherent words never formed._

_Harleen sobbed as she heard a sound too horrid to describe; a strange rattling formed in her mother's chest growing in intensity before slowly fading away. Colleen Quinzel's chest went still and her eyes drifted partially shut._

_**"MOM!"**_

_Harleen's throaty scream died just as her mother had; she knelt in the blood of the woman who had birthed her, hugging herself and crying gently. Too numb to think or move, Harleen stayed put._

_A low creak sounded from the kitchen._

_Harleen's heart shuddered in her chest as she slowly turned… _

Gasping for air, Harleen thrust herself into a sitting position.

Everything around her was a dingy white; the ceiling, the walls, the floor.

She took a deep, calming breath before rolling herself to the edge of her bunk. The fact she wasn't tied down gave her some hope so Harleen managed to stand. She had fully expected to find herself pumped full of whatever exotic psych drug Dr. Thurmond determined was necessary.

Instead, Harleen's mind was clear - far clearer than she expected.

She remembered the skinny, nerdy looking guy her Uncle Jim had introduced as her new lawyer had been visiting yesterday. He'd brought an attractive brunette with him; a woman with perfect teeth and long, manicured nails painted a dazzling shade of pink.

_Sharon,_ Harleen recalled. _Her name was Sharon._

Uncle Jim wanted to save her, but he didn't know what lurked out in the big, bad world of Gotham.

Harleen knew, oh how she knew! And as much as she loved Jim Gordon and all his many kindnesses; she wasn't ever going back out into Gotham with the crazies. At least in Arkham you understood the neighbors were all a bunch of loons!

Stumbling across the room, she finally found balance as she approached the door to her cell. Taking a quick peek out into the dim hall was Harleen's morning ritual before going to the window. The window allowed her access to the world - she could let her mind roam free as she watched the birds or even the sky over Gotham. She loved her little window and Harleen felt safe; no one could touch her in this little haven.

Harleen clucked her tongue disapprovingly.

_No guards. Guess they must be off slacking._

She was well aware of the fact Arkham staff feared her and a tiny part of her relished their trepidation.

Fear was power at Arkham, Harleen had learned when she first arrived.

Unlike many of the other inmates, Harleen was largely left to her own devices and she liked being alone. The old janitor, Gabe, kept her pretty well informed about what went on around the asylum so there really wasn't any need for further human interaction.

She no longer desired the company of other human beings.

Harleen Quinzel valued her safety above everything else.

Although there were a few things from the outside world she missed...

_Captain Crunch, Twinkies, Nirvana, flowers, swimming._

Smacking her lips, Harleen realized she would cheerfully kill for a bowl of Captain Crunch cereal. She'd eaten oatmeal, toast, and an apple every morning for the past eleven years. Food was food, eat to live and not live to eat, but really, Arkham should have a more diverse menu.

Scratching at her neck absently, Harleen decided it was time for the window. As she turned, movement caught her eye in the holding cell across from her.

She had the last cell before the elevators and all the patient cells on the fifth floor ran along the wall facing the exercise yard and the high rise district of Gotham. The opposite side of the floor had a view of the shipyards and docks; the seedy, industrial side of the city. It housed a solarium, shower room, guard station, and the large, open holding cell across from her own little home.

Harleen had seen all the other patients on her floor at one time or other in the holding cell while Gabe cleaned their room; sometimes they waited for the guards to bring them downstairs to meet with a lawyer or a psychiatrist. Patients from the fifth floor were not allowed access to the exercise yard due to their collective status as high security risks.

She almost laughed at the thought of mingling with the nutcases she'd seen stab each other when the guards weren't looking. Harleen figured she's witnessed at least half a dozen murders from her little perch on high over the years.

_Pity they never ask what I've seen._ Harleen thought with a slight grin.

Although, it wasn't like she'd ever tell anyway.

Another flash of movement in the holding cell caught her eye and pulled Harleen out of her reverie.

It was _**HIM**_.

Harleen had heard all about _**him**_ from Gabe; she had no access to television, newspapers, or even the radio, but Gabe had bitched to her all summer long about how _**he**_ had half destroyed Gotham. Not only was the man across from her a mass murderer, but he was a thief and a total whack job as well.

According to Gabe, anyway, and she trusted the old man's opinion.

The thick, knotted scars on his cheeks gave him a leering, static grin not unlike the Cheshire Cat. He could hardly hide those hideous, healed slash marks in a crowd - Harleen could almost understand why he'd turned out the way he had. His hair brushed his shoulders in greasy lime-colored waves and she wanted to laugh. What kind of master criminal dyed his hair green? His eyes were a different matter entirely; dark brown pools stared out at her with such intensity she took a step back.

She swore he was peering clear into her skull from the way he tilted his head as his scarred lips twisted just a little.

Feeling ridiculous, Harleen stepped back in front of the window.

_You can't get me in here anyway. Ha-Ha! Mr. Joker, what a stupid name! Who wants a moniker associated with a playing card?_ Harleen's mind crowed as she smiled beneath her mask.

His dark eyes flickered to the mouth hole of her mask and his absurd grin seemed to stretch upward a little.

Moving casually, he leaned against the floor to ceiling safety glass wall of the holding cell. He was dressed in gray scrubs and white booties just as Harleen, but he wore the drab garb like he had a set of princely raiment's adorning his body. Something about the confidence he exuded made Harleen want to watch him.

He didn't seem to mind her looking either.

Harleen watched as he smacked his lips together and eyeballed his cell a moment before returning his eyes to her. The Joker crooked his finger at her comically and mouthed, _'Come closer'_. This alone almost made Harleen laugh, but she pressed herself against her cell window. Unlike him, she was only visible from the shoulders up.

Part of her wished she could hear him.

_'What's with the mask?'_ He mouthed as he swept his hand across his face dramatically.

Harleen noticed he was taking great care to make himself understandable. She shrugged and threw her hands up in the air. _I'm not telling you, Mr. Joker, _Harleen thought with an internal sigh.

She knew better than to involve herself with anyone, but he was slightly amusing.

The Joker's eyes grew wide. _'Don't be boring!'_ He commanded, mouthing the words angrily.

Harleen decided to give her new friend the international sign of annoyance since the mask she wore prevented her from mouthing anything to him in return. She pressed her fist, middle finger proudly extended, to the glass.

He blinked as though stunned before laughing. The Joker laughed and laughed, bent over and clutching his sides, before slowly regaining control over himself. Harleen was suddenly glad she couldn't hear him because she suspected his laughter was chilling.

Appearing to smack his lips, his eyes shifted right and left before focusing on her again. _'You've got a little fight in you! I like that.'_

The mouthed words pleased her and she inclined her head in thanks.

Before she could get herself in any deeper, the guards arrived.

Peterman and Sanchez were boobs, but at least they were efficient in their dealings with her and somewhat polite. To her surprise, they loomed in front of her cell instead of leading the Joker away as she'd thought.

The static buzz of the intercom tore into her ears; she was so used to the silence of her cell her ears ached when she was exposed to noise. "73321, we need to restrain you. The nurses are coming to bathe you."

Surprise rippled through Harleen. The nurses had just bathed and changed her clothing yesterday and she wasn't normally accorded such privileges but once a month. Despising human contact was one thing, but Harleen adored being clean and she always had.

She backed into the center of the room and extended her arms limply as a gesture of cooperation.

The morning had proved to be interesting, Harleen wondered how the rest of the day would go.

----------


	3. The Little Green Monster

- Author's note - I don't own the Joker. DC Comics please don't sue! Thanks to everyone taking the time to read, review, and putting the story on favorite/story alert lists! I hope I did the Joker justice, I was scared to death writing this chapter. After this chapter there will be a bit more action. Please review, it inspires me.

----------

Looking around the grubby conference room with disdain, the Joker noted no cameras or listening devices visible to the naked eye. Of course, he was well aware the District Attorney, Gotham PD, or even the Batman could have bugged the room in the vain attempt to garner some advantage over him during the upcoming trial.

_The Batman... _

He shifted his shoulders ever so slightly and a satisfying crunch sounded from his left scapula. Tension dissipated from his body and the Joker relaxed. He was a little disappointed, even six months after being captured, with the fact _**Batman**_ hadn't made any attempt to break into Arkham and kill him.

The Joker had been so sure little Rachel Dawes was Batty-Boy's part-time honey, when she wasn't servicing Harvey Dent, idiot savant, of the DA's office. Most women, in his experience, fell into two distinct categories: whores with a set of brass balls bigger than his own and brainless, spineless whores who were a waste of the skin draping their pretty little bodies.

He preferred the ballsy variety.

_The toy is always more fun when it fights back._

A slight grin slid his scarred lips upward in a mockery of a smile. The little masked _lun-a-tic _on his floor had piqued his interest when she'd flipped him the bird - he hadn't had someone give him the finger since before…

He began to stroke the thick internal scar tissue of his cheek with his tongue; feeling every nuance of the healed slits. His tongue was equally battered and he'd lost a great deal of taste when he'd been butchered. Most people had no idea his mouth had been just as savaged as his face and so he'd developed a rather intense craving after the attack for salty and sweet foods because he could taste them better.

The Joker had caught just a ghost of a smile in the girl's eyes and the thought of it made him giggle at the memory.

"May I ask what you find to be so amusing?"

He smacked his lips, rolling his eyes heavenward. "No, you may not ask-uh. I might be in the, ah, crazy house, but I'm entitled to my _pri-v-acy_." The Joker jerked his chin toward the ceiling. "Speaking of which, have you checked for bugs?"

Earl Finley sat across from him as prim as a Sunday school teacher. He wore a navy, pinstripe suit with a plain white shirt and a plain navy tie, he looked every inch the ninny the Joker suspected his lawyer to be. "I've had this room swept several times and there are no surveillance devices."

"Good-uh," The Joker smacked his lips loudly before tapping his hands on the table. "So have you contacted Billy-boy yet?"

Earl's eyes widened behind his thick glasses. "I thought you said you wanted to go through with the trial… "

"Tut-tut, Earl, have you learned nothing, my snooty little friend?" The Joker curled his hands into fists; willing himself not to choke the life out of his attorney. After all, he was a man of his word and he'd promised no naughty behavior in exchange for help in getting out of Arkham, legal or not. "The _sys-tum _in old Gotham isn't all its cracked up to be. I prefer not to leave my fate in the hands of the ignorant, ah, masses of this city."

Earl flipped open his blackberry and thumbed through his contact list. "You know I wouldn't do this for anyone else..." He turned an expectant gaze on the Joker. "I hope you meant what you said about us."

Raising one eyebrow, the Joker smiled. "You wound me, darling, you really do." Leaning forward, he let his dark eyes roam up and down the smaller man as they grew dark with lust; Earl had no idea the lust in the Joker's eyes was for blood, not sex. "I _pro-mised_ you the night of your life, didn't I?"

The sudden soft, sing-song quality of the Joker's voice made Earl's blood race through his veins and he swallowed the thick knot in his throat. He was all too aware of the Joker's violent history. Earl Finley had never been as attracted to any man as he was to the damaged creature across from him; the very viciousness of the Joker was sexy as hell to Earl.

"I have his number," Earl mumbled. "What do you want me to say?"

"Tell Billy-boy I want to be out of this joint before the trial," The Joker replied sternly. "The food is terrible and so is the company - besides, I'm bored. I need to blow something up before I lose my mind like the rest of the cretins here."

While Earl was busily texting, the Joker licked his lips as he glanced around the room. "Speaking of the crazies, I have a question for you."

Earl grunted as he finished the message. "Shoot."

"Poor choice of words," the Joker hissed. "I have a tendency to take things _lit-er-ally._"

"What?"

The Joker frowned. "I want some information on, ah, one of my, ah, neighbors. Who has cell 12D on my floor?"

Earl Finley paled. "You can't be serious?!"

"Oh from time to time I'm deathly serious," The Joker's eyes pinned Earl to his chair; the dark orbs full of malice and sensual promise. "Don't disappoint me, darling."

The lawyer slowly put away his blackberry before speaking. "12D is Harleen Quinzel, she's another client of mine."

The Joker's mind was running riot and his excitement boiled over as frenzied toe tapping on the floor. "Quinzel, huh? What did _she-uh_ do?"

"Supposedly, Harleen killed her entire family with a hatchet eleven years ago. I don't believe she committed the crime and neither does the new DA." Earl shrugged. "It was good Commissioner Gordon asked Sharon Kennison for a new investigation."

Blinking, the Joker could hardly believe his luck. "Gordon? What's _he-uh_ got to do with it?"

Earl shrugged. "Jim Gordon is Harleen's godfather. He visits her faithfully the last Sunday of every month; he's been visiting since Harleen was brought here."

"Hmmm..." The Joker shifted his wrists, frowning as the chains holding him to the table rattled. "_In-ter-esting_, very interesting indeed. I wonder why she wears a mask, Earl."

"Don't even get me started," Earl spat with disgust. "Harleen's treatment here has been absolutely appalling! First, she's attacked by three guards who clearly had the intention of raping her… "

"Did they?"

"No," Earl shuddered. "Harleen, well, she… defended herself."

The Joker kept a straight face, only the gleam in his eyes gave away his excitement, as he stretched his long legs. "_In-deed_." He stretched out his syllables out of interest or irritation; in this case, he was feeling both emotions. Earl had the decidedly annoying habit of beating around the bush. "So what happened? Did she kick them in the family _je-wels_?"

"Not quite," Earl took off his glasses and began to polish them. The Joker imagined shoving the eyewear down his attorney's throat and watching as the little worm choked to death; he smiled at the thought. Earl perched his glasses back on his nose and sighed. "She maimed them pretty badly - hence, the mask."

"Good," The Joker replied darkly. "Too bad she didn't kill them." There was one, well really two, laws he held while rejecting all other rules - rape and child molestation were both detestable acts. All rapists and molesters deserved to die; he'd carved up a few himself before dispatching them to hell.

Sure, he was responsible for the death of a few rug rats in his crime sprees, Chaos dictated everybody had to go sometime, but he'd cut off his own dick before he touched a child... the very thought sickened him.

The Joker felt his stomach tighten in warning.

He had, courtesy of his permanent grin, been forced to procure ladies of the night to satiate his physical desires. No woman had ever proved willing until he flashed some green their way, but he was a man of his word and he paid the piper for services rendered. Not once had it occurred to the Joker to rape one of the whores he'd bought - or some uptight broad out minding her business.

Nope, he preferred going without to using force when it came to sex - unless he was having his hoochie mama of the week play the dominatrix. _Now that was fun!_ Pity most of the females he'd come across preferred it the other way around.

_A slap in the face or a knee to the groin make for excellent foreplay._ The Joker smirked at the thought.

"She sure tried." Earl was shaking his head. "Harleen jammed her forefinger in one guard's eye, which he later lost, and bit the second guard's throat so badly he nearly bled out."

"And the third guy?" The Joker inquired patiently.

Earl shuffled some papers nervously. "Use your imagination."

The Joker snickered. "I like full _diss-closure_."

"Let's just say he has half a chance of fathering children," Earl choked out; his face now pasty.

The Joker's brow rose and he chuckled quietly for a moment before a burst of riotous laughter took him over. He laughed so hard tears welled up in his eyes, making the world around him blur, before the bitter liquid spilled down his cheeks. It was only when the salty wetness made it to his lips, teasing his tongue, he managed to stifle the high pitched giggles still threatening to escape his throat.

"I have to meet this little morsel," The Joker smacked his lips before tonguing his scars briefly. "Maybe I could offer her a job!"

Earl's thin eyebrows drew together. "Have you lost your mind? She's Commissioner Gordon's goddaughter for fuck's sake!" He frowned and looked away from the Joker. "Harleen Quinzel isn't worth all the thought you're putting into her - she's damaged goods."

"Jealous?" The Joker needled. "I think you are, my sweet boy." He leaned forward and managed to poke Earl's hand with his forefinger. "Hey, look at me."

Earl turned his face to the table.

Rage, blood red, exploded like fireworks behind the Joker's eyes. _**"I. Said. Look. At. Me!"**_ Each word, short and harsh, was ground out with more venom than a cobra could hope to produce; this tone never failed to yield results. Earl glanced up, tears shining in his eyes. The Joker flashed a brief smile in the other man's direction. "First, jealousy is ridiculous, Earl - I gave you my word we'd be together when this was all over and I'd give you the night of your life and I will. Second, dropping the F-bomb makes an educated fellow such as yourself look like a complete moron so don't do it again. And third… "

The Joker cleared his throat and tilted his head as he stared at his lawyer. "Third, you really shouldn't make _ass-ump-tions_ about who is and isn't damaged goods so to speak. I mean uh," he indicated his scars with one hand. "not so bright. You have no clue how helpful little Miss Masked Mayhem might be to my cause so do me a favor and shut it."

"What cause?" Earl whispered.

The Joker raised one eyebrow. "Clueless, utterly clueless. Never mind." _Chaos you little fool! Chaos is my cause!_ He was screaming away inside his own mind even as his lips curved upward into a terrible parody of a smile. "Shall we discuss something more pleasant? I heard the cops took a few shots at the Batman. Did they hurt him?"

"Shouldn't we talk about your case?"

"Nah, Billy-boy will break me out in plenty of time to avoid the atrocity Gotham's trying to pass off as a trial. I suppose it may be amusing to see you match wits with Kennison and try to work your magic on the peanut gallery sitting in the jury box, but I'll have to cope with the disappointment of missing it all."

Earl's face flushed. "Is Billy your boyfriend?"

The Joker blinked slowly and cracked his neck. "Billy is my… ah… employee for lack of a better term." He was fully capable of trying to seduce a man, if need be, but his sexuality was firmly grounded on the heterosexual side; he was too entranced by breasts and curvy hips and other delectable niblets of the female anatomy to give it up for his own gender. "You really do need to get over your jealousy issues, Earl. I find this lack of self confidence you have to be rather, well, _pa-the-tic_."

The other man's eyes grew watery and the Joker found himself wanting to throttle Earl. "No, Batman escaped without any injury."

"Hmm..." The Joker smacked his lips once and turned his attention to the ceiling. "Good, good, goody. I would hate for someone else to have all the fun."


	4. Memories and ChitChat

-Author's Note- I'd like to thank Arugula Pacioli, overlordofnobodies, Goddess of Glomps, Urulokiwen, Evil-Clowns-Rule, Hellion kitty-kat, and Leia Blade of the Jedi for taking time to review! Also, thanks to those who are reading, favoriting the story, and putting the story on their alerts list. DC Comics owns all the Batman characters, please don't sue! There is a creepy song I heard on the seventh season of CSI, 'Living Doll', which I felt described Harleen quite well. It's called, 'I've Got a Pain in My Sawdust', by Herman Avery Wade and Henry Edward Warner - this is not a songfic at all, just borrowing for this chapter. Someone asked me why this Harleen is so different from the DC Harley Quinn - I'm trying to create a Nolanverse Harley to go along with the Nolanverse Joker. Hopefully it works, please review and let me know what you think!

----------

Commissioner Jim Gordon watched the masked woman across from him. Sunlight poured through the solarium windows and Harleen's clean, newly shortened locks glowed. She stood quietly in the center of the room, not attempting to move, staring blankly.

Gordon sighed and turned to the two guards flanking the solarium door. "Gentlemen, please step outside. I'd like to speak with Harleen alone for a few minutes."

The taller, older man, Sanchez, Gordon dimly recalled, appeared shocked. "Commissioner, Arkham policy forbids dangerous patients being left alone with civilians or staff. She isn't even restrained… "

Gordon flashed his trademark smile, the one he used to reassure many a new patrolman. "I'm not a civilian," he interrupted smoothly. "I'm a thirty year veteran of the Gotham City Police Department. I've seen every type of criminal and piece of scum this city has to offer and I'm still kicking - so I think I'll be fine with Harleen for a little while."

"Dr. Thurmond… " The second guard began.

"What Dr. Thurmond doesn't know won't hurt him," Gordon finished quietly. "I'll be fine and you guys will be right outside the door in case something happens."

The two men grumbled, but exited the room leaving Jim Gordon alone with his goddaughter.

Tears pricked his eyes and Jim didn't bother trying to blink them away. "You know, Harleen, I miss you. Not a day goes by when I don't think of you and Barbara feels the same way. Do you remember Barbara, Harleen?" He edged a little closer to the petite woman; mindful to keep his body language casual. "I'll bet you do remember her - and Jimmy, he's twelve now, he was just a baby the last time you saw him. I have a ten year old daughter too, we named her after Barbara, but we nicknamed her Bibi. Do you remember me telling you about her?"

Harleen shifted her deep blue eyes away from him toward a nearby couch.

Gordon felt exultation race through his body; she'd never so much as moved in his presence since she had been brought to Arkham. "You didn't kill your family, Harleen, I know it. Dr. Thurmond and Ms. Kennison told me how upset you were the evening of your meeting with them. Earl was concerned you were going to have a breakdown, but I think you're upset because you're afraid."

She stirred; clenching her fists and unclenching them.

"I think you know exactly who killed your family," he continued. "I won't allow them to keep you locked up here the rest of your life, Harleen. You're still a young woman… "

_"Wha-y-eeeee… "_ A slightly hoarse, very low, husky female voice whispered.

Jim Gordon cocked his head, shock pouring through him. Harleen Quinzel had just spoken for the first time in more than ten years. His heart pounded in his chest madly as he reached out and slowly grasped her upper arms. Harleen's skin was dry and cool; her limbs painfully thin - no more than ligament and skin covering bone.

He wanted to let go of her, appalled at her physical deterioration. Gently, Jim leaned his forehead against the cold, stiff mask covering her face. "I want to help you because I love you, Harleen. You're like a daughter to me, just like my Jimmy and Bibi. Don't you want to be free? Barbara and I could give you a home."

Harleen turned her face to his own; her blue eyes filling with tears.

_"Oh, sad was the day for the little bisque doll, _

_For they cut all her stitches away, _

_and found the seat of the terrible ache, _

_"'Twas a delicate task," they all say, _

_For none of the surgeons had ever before, _

_Performed on a dolly's inside, _

_They tried to re-stuff her but didn't know how, _

_And this was her wail as she died."_

The sing-song voice Harleen had used was low, harsh, and irrefutably sad to hear; the rhyme itself was a song Jim recognized as one Colleen had used to sing to all of her children. There was nothing comforting in the words or the delivery as Harleen had warbled them with all the delicacy of a wounded toad.

Hair on the back of Jim Gordon's neck stood straight up. "Oh Harleen, what have they done to you in here?"

"Sir?" The voice from behind him was one of familiarity and sanity.

Gordon didn't move; his eyes stayed locked on Harleen's. "What is it, Stephens?"

Gerard Stephens was a twenty year man and one of the best damn cops Jim Gordon had been privileged to know. Although a drinker in his off time, Stephens kept himself sober and scrupulously honest on the job. "We have a kidnapping in progress."

"Who?" Jim asked as he stared down into Harleen's eyes; unwilling to break the precious contact, unsure if he'd ever reach her again.

"Lowell Amberton's five year old son."

"Shit," Gordon breathed out.

Lowell Amberton was the second wealthiest man in Gotham, after Bruce Wayne, and he hadn't started his family until later in life. The poor sap had stood up to the Joker at Harvey Dent's fundraiser and nearly had his face carved into a permanent smile for his audacity.

"I'll be down in a few minutes. Wait for me."

"Yes, sir."

Jim Gordon allowed his fingers to drift through Harleen's recently cut hair; the soft tendrils curling around his fingers. There had been something so delicate about her, perhaps it was because Harleen possessed such a small stature, but he'd always been fiercely protective of her. She reminded him so very much of Colleen Quinzel - the same hair color, the same lips and cheekbones, the same heart-shaped face. He

had never seen any evidence of Joe Quinzel in Harleen at all.

Where Joe Quinzel was a tall, strapping red-haired Irishman, with a temper to match; Colleen had been a quiet, incredibly beautiful woman with the patience of a saint. She had always been smiling - Jim couldn't recall having ever seen her cross in the nineteen years he'd known her. Joe was a smart man, and an honest cop, but he had issues with anger and his jacket had been littered with occasional police brutality charges.

Jim had never witnessed his partner committing acts of brutality, but there had always been the niggling suspicion in the back of Jim's mind that Joe might be capable if the circumstances were right. He always wondered what Colleen had found in Joe which he himself had lacked…

… _"Have you given any thought to what I said, Colleen?"_

_Colleen Lucas pushed a stray lock of strawberry-blonde hair behind her ear. "Jim," she smiled, her pretty gray eyes filled with kindness. "I wish I felt the same way about you that you seem to feel about me, but I don't."_

_The pair came to a halt in front of Gotham Police Precinct 23._

_Jim Gordon felt every inch the ant as he looked around at the buildings dwarfing he and Colleen; he couldn't bear to look at her when he knew exactly what was coming. She was going to tell him they should just stay friends._

_"I love you, Jim," Colleen whispered as she rested her small hand against his cheek. "I'm just not in love with you and I think you deserve a wife who will be passionately, madly in love with a wonderful man like you."_

_Jim looked down at her; his heart ripping in two. "But last night..." He felt like a fool for thinking the night they had spent together meant anything at all to her. Jim wasn't into casual sex, but he'd been in love with Colleen for three long years and when she had come onto him, he'd been more than happy to oblige._

_Colleen's face burned a dull red. "We were both lonely and with Joe gone, I was stupid." She tucked her hands into the pockets of the cheery pink raincoat she wore. "I took advantage of you and I had no right. Joe and I - we've been together since junior high and we love each other." Looking down at the concrete beneath their feet, she continued in a soft, pleading voice. "Please don't tell Joe, if he knew we slept together it would kill him."_

_"I want to marry you," Jim managed, voice cracking. "I know I would be a good husband to you, Colleen."_

_She looked him in the eye. "I know, Jim, but I wouldn't make you a good wife. One day, you'll meet the right woman and you'll look back at this and thank god I didn't say yes."_

_Jim frowned. "I doubt it highly."_

_"Are you growing a mustache?" Colleen asked with a little grin; swiping her forefinger across his upper lip._

_He nodded._

_Colleen's eyes sparkled. "I like it."_

_"I'm glad," Jim replied; unable to hold back the dullness in his voice._

_Colleen reached up and pressed her lips against his cheek. She let her mouth linger against his cool flesh for a minute longer than propriety allowed before pulling back. "Thank you, Jimmy Blue Eyes."_

_He didn't have to assure Colleen of his silence; she knew he would remain quiet as she turned and carefully crossed the busy street..._

… Jim tenderly pressed his lips against Harleen's temple before pulling away from her.

Colleen had married Joe once he'd arrived back from a special training course hosted by the FBI Academy in Quantico. Jim had remained silent even as he watched the woman he loved walk down the aisle with his partner and friend. Colleen had never again shown even a hint of interest in Jim other than pure friendship and she always made sure they never found themselves alone.

He had never entirely gotten over his first love - it took him years to relinquish his smiling, sweet Colleen, but somewhere inside those feelings for her lingered still and he kept them locked away.

Then Barbara had come into his life like a tornado.

Nothing had ever been the same and Jim was grateful for his wife; Barbara made him happy, as Colleen predicted, he was a single man. Barbara was lovely, intelligent, gentle, and as fiery as Colleen had been quiet and reserved.

No, Jim Gordon knew he had made the right choice in marrying Barbara.

He simply wished he hadn't failed Harleen so badly - Colleen would have been mortified to see her daughter accused of a horrendous crime family and friends knew the girl to be incapable of.

"Harleen, I want you to remember I'm coming back for you." Jim kept his voice steady, his tone patient and warm. "I promise you nothing bad is going to happen, Sweetheart. Ms. Kennison, Earl, and I are going to get you the hell out of here."

He could see the tears escaping Harleen's eyes.

She was crying, but she did so silently.

Jim released her and stepped away from Harleen. He never turned back, knowing if he did, he'd be incapable of leaving Arkham Asylum without his goddaughter. Jim Gordon had a job to do, but once he was done with the Amberton case, he was coming back to insist Thurmond remove the ridiculous mask covering Harleen's face.

And he was bringing the District Attorney with him.

----------

Harleen staggered over to the couch and sank onto it. She stared out over the pock-marked, putrid Industrial quarter of Gotham, but her mind was far away. Terror held her in its grip, he was coming back and he wasn't going to leave without bringing her out into Gotham.

Knees quaking, Harleen pressed her face to them and drew in ragged, heaving breaths of air as she desperately searched for calm.

_"I've got a pain in my sawdust,_

_That's whats the matter with me,_

_Something is wrong with my little insides,_

_I'm just as sick as can be… "_

"What a _sss-ad_ little song!"

Harleen looked up, her eyes widened, and she shot to her feet.

The Joker was standing in front of the doors in his dull gray scrubs; his scarred mouth pulled back into a hideous smile and his dark eyes alight. His hair was still green, but more and more patches of dirty blonde were showing through.

Harleen looked past him, but Peterman and Sanchez were both gone.

He followed her gaze and laughed; the sound just as chilling as Harleen had thought it would be. "Now, a good rule of thumb, and you'll want to remember this, _Sweetums_," he crooked his finger at her and leaned forward as though sharing a secret with her. "is all people are intrinsically corrupt. This includes guards, doctors, lawyers, judges, cops..."

She backed away from him, her eyes darting around the room looking for anything resembling a weapon, but there was nothing.

"Especially guards and cops," The Joker smacked his deformed lips together. "Never trust anyone on my list and you'll be a much happier person."

Harleen froze as her back hit the window.

He observed her with a raised brow. "Are you nervous? You look nervous, Harleen. May I call you, Harleen?"

She shook her head, drawing in deep breaths as she inched her way toward the bookcase bolted into the wall. The drawback of wearing her mask was her peripheral vision wasn't so good. Harleen kept her eyes pinned on the Joker as she continued to move.

The Joker remained rooted to the spot, his lips now pulled down at the corners just slightly; giving his face a schizophrenic expression as the scars tried to pull his mouth up into his trademark terrifying smile. "Oh, you hurt my feelings, Miss Quinzel. I thought after our little _tête-à-tête_ the other day we could have a real chat. Truly, I just want to be friends."

Harleen reached out with her left hand and felt the blunt edge of the bookcase bolted to the wall. She remembered the tiny space at the top and all the ceiling tiles just begging to be pushed in.

His dark eyes narrowed as she caressed the edge of the bookcase. "_Ex-act-ly_ where do you think you're going, Miss Quinzel?" He stayed still, but his long fingers were twitching and Harleen noticed with disgust he was licking his scars like some sort of animal. "I'm afraid to tell you there's no way out of this _ro-om_. Now, you and I are going to have a nice little talk so take a seat on the couch like a good girl."

"No."

Harleen almost jumped at the sound of her own voice; it was nothing like the hard, guttural tone which had erupted from her throat earlier. This was her voice from years ago - pure, normal pitch, and clear as a proverbial bell. She sounded young, much younger than her twenty-seven years and she could see she'd shocked the Joker as well.

"Excuse me?" The Joker cupped one hand to his ear. "Do my ears deceive me or does Miss Quinzel speak? Ya know, I heard a rumor you haven't spoken in eleven years." He counted to eleven silently while keeping time with his fingers. "Yet in the space of five minutes I've heard you sing and talk. So are you crazy like good Dr. Thurmond says or are you just misunderstood - like me."

"No." Harleen blinked.

"You'll have to be more specific."

"No."

The Joker took a deep breath. "Okay, _Miss Sssmar-ty Pantsss_," he hissed in obvious displeasure. "Just plant your rear on the couch. Now." He pointed at the mousy brown sofa.

Harleen looked over at the couch and then back at the Joker. "No."

"Yes!" He shouted as he took a step forward; one of his long fingers pointing at the sofa. "Right now."

She reached behind her and slowly pulled a book from the shelf. Her fingers were trembling so badly she nearly dropped the thick volume as she pulled it to her chest. Harleen was quite aware of the fact this man was over six feet tall and whipcord lean; she doubted there was an ounce of fat on his body. This meant he could probably kill her with his bare hands.

The Joker raised one eyebrow as he took another step in her direction. "Jane Austen? What? Have you developed a sudden yen to read Pride and Prejudice?" He chuckled darkly. "Forgive me, but you don't seem like the type to appreciate the finer literary works, _muh dear_."

She fired the book like a missile as he inched another step closer.

The book caught him on the cheekbone and connected with a dull _thud_. The Joker let out a loud groan as he stumbled backwards, arms flailing wildly, before he collapsed to the floor. He was still and Harleen didn't waste a moment.

She turned and launched herself up the bookcase; her small fingers finding purchase as they had on the parallel bars all those years ago. She was shaking, her arms felt like they were on fire, as she fought to pull herself upward against the near overwhelming weight of gravity. Her toes wiggled helplessly as she used them to push herself up toward the ceiling. Every second was a struggle, but Harleen didn't want to be left alone with the monster below her.

Gritting her teeth, she finally pulled herself up onto the top shelf.

A pain-filled moan reached her ears and Harleen looked down to see the Joker pushing himself into a sitting position. He shook his head briefly before a giggle escaped his throat. The strange little laugh grew into a roar; a cacophony of chaotic guffaws which would have induced terror in the hardiest of souls.

He pointed at her weakly. "_Har-Har-Harleeeen,_" The Joker gasped out between snickers. "Do be a dear and get your Uncle Joker Anna Karenina will you? I much prefer a _tra-ge-dy_ to a simpering love story!"

Harleen slammed her fist against the ceiling and the tile moved easily. Heart beating madly, she grasped the edges of the open ceiling and using her legs, shoved herself up into the darkness. She maneuvered herself forward in the darkness as she navigated the flimsy, treacherous ceiling tiles. If she didn't keep herself on the brace joints, she'd fall back in with the malevolent thing still laughing somewhere below her.

It occurred to her the Joker might well be up in the ceiling himself by now.

Swallowing thickly, Harleen continued forward in the inky darkness, always keeping herself balanced on the braces. Her hands were accumulating a wealth of cuts and bruises from her blind wandering and she was gasping as sticky cobwebs draped themselves across the mouth and nose holes of her mask. Harleen tried to picture old Gabe up here dusting and the thought almost made her giggle, but fear kept her lips pressed into a tight line.

Stopping, she picked at a tile and lifted the corner cautiously.

Below her was the nurse's office, but the small, windowless room was locked up and the light was out. Only a dim shaft of daylight piercing the slats of the blinds gave any illumination at all, but it was enough. She spied a tall filing cabinet one ceiling tile over - close enough for her to ease onto without making a lot of noise.

When Harleen's feet touched the floor, she found herself on her knees. Heart pounding, sweat making her mask stick uncomfortably to her face, and the need to urinate nearly overwhelming, she breathed deeply. Awareness dawned on Harleen time was of the essence.

She forced herself up to her feet and staggered to the nurse's desk. Rifling across the top, Harleen found a letter opener, it wasn't real sharp, but it would due in a pinch. She knew better than to try and use the phone sitting so innocuously near by.

The guards who worked for _HIM_ would be on her in a flash.

Instead, Harleen crawled under the desk, avoiding the obvious panic button, curling herself into a ball; clutching the letter opener as her eyes took in everything around her. The bag slumped beside her feet went unnoticed at first, but Harleen felt the slick leather against her foot and her eyes went wide.

She pulled the heavy purse over to her and examined the contents as best she could in the semi-darkness.

Reaching inside, Harleen's fingers brushed against a familiar, smooth shape.

A cell phone.

Harleen's heart sank like a stone.

The only person she could call was Uncle Jim - and Uncle Jim would bring her out into Gotham with all the people. One thing Harleen had learned was just how depraved and evil the citizens of this city really were. She stared at the phone in her hand with the dawning knowledge the Joker would probably kill her or worse; treat her like those guards had so long ago.

_Gotham - Joker - Gotham - Joker - Gotham..._

Harleen flipped open the little phone and dialed a number she had memorized as a teenager.

_555-3297_

The ringing began the minute Harleen hit send.

"Gordon." The weary, stalwart voice of James Gordon echoed in Harleen's ear.

She opened her mouth to speak, but her throat closed up.

Jim sighed; the sound drifting warmly into her ear. "Hello?"

Harleen tried to force words from her throat, but nothing aside from unintelligible warbling ensued.

_'I can speak to the Joker, but not my own godfather?'_ The insanity of the thought made her want to scream, but her throat and mouth simply wouldn't cooperate.

"Damn cranks." Jim ground out before the line went dead.

Harleen started to dial when she heard the door handle jiggle ominously. She hit the power button and stuffed the phone back into the purse. Curling up as far under the desk as she could, Harleen clutched the letter opener for all she was worth and waited - there wasn't anything else she could do.

Keys rattled and a cold click sounded followed by the barely noticeable scrape of well oiled door hinges.

Soft footsteps entered the room and stopped just on the other side of the desk.

"Hmmm..." The Joker smacked his lips once. "it would appear Harleen is quite the talented little bunny. I suppose she could have climbed back up in the ceiling wandering around like a blind rat until the guards find her - or she could be hiding under the desk like a frightened kitty."

Harleen squeezed her eyes shut as the Joker closed the door behind him.

"I think Harleen is a very frightened little kitten right about now." The tone of his voice was slightly nasally, but calm; nothing like the terrifying man she'd seen earlier. "Oh come out, come out wherever you are, Harleen Quinzel!"

She didn't move a muscle, but her mouth ran away all on its own. "No."

"You're very fond of that word," The Joker chuckled. "There's a whole vocabulary you oughtta try before deciding to limit yourself." He knocked on the desk over Harleen's head. "Come on out Harleen, I'm not gonna hurt you."

She didn't move and her traitorous lips stayed shut.

"Look, I understand we don't know each other," he cleared his throat. "I was a little _for-ward_ earlier, but in all fairness to me, I tend to get a bit overexcited at times. I'm a man of my word, Harleen, and I'm telling you I won't hurt you."

Harleen knew it was only a matter of time before he simply dragged her out. She crawled out quickly and shot to her feet; the letter opener jammed so hard against her throat, a drop of blood pearled where she had parted her own flesh.

The Joker's dark eyes traveled from her face to her neck; he licked his lips absently. "Might I give you a bit of advice?" He pointed at the letter opener. "You'll still be able to commit hari kari with a dull blade, but its going to hurt a hell of a lot more. Never slice through skin with a dull _in-stru-ment_ is my motto."

Harleen's neck burned, but she eased little more than a centimeter more of the metal inside her weeping wound before her hand began to shake.

His smoky eyes glittered from the deep, bruise-like shadows surrounding them; it looked as though he hadn't slept in months. "I'm going to have a hellish time stitching you up, Doll. The throat is a very sensitive spot and you're gonna have a scar if you don't stop."

"Go away."

"I can't, Harleen, we haven't had our chat yet."

"Chat?"

"Yeah, remember our eyes met across the hall and we sort of... _signaled_ one another?"

Harleen blushed as she remembered flipping him the bird. "Uh-huh."

The Joker seemed to relax just a little. "Well, I like your moxie and I wanted to talk to you about a job."

"Job?" Harleen blinked as she lowered the letter opener. "And I thought I was nuts."

The Joker simply laughed for all he was worth.


	5. To Trust or Not

Disclaimer: DC Comics owns Batman and sadly, the Joker! Please don't sue.

----------

Hissing, Harleen clenched her teeth together as the Joker drew the needle through her torn flesh for the last time. The suture held and he hummed some tune she'd never heard before as he finished stitching her up with surprisingly nimble fingers.

Raising one eyebrow, he tilted his head as he studied her briefly. "One of my finest jobs! I guarantee no scars." The Joker burst into a fit of giggles

Harleen had found herself seated on the desk in the nurse's office when the Joker decided she needed at least two stitches in her throat. She was tempted to touch the wound, but didn't. "No scars? I don't care about scars."

The Joker stopped laughing mid-guffaw and cast serious eyes her way. "You should care - you wanna end up like me?" He licked his scarred lip for emphasis. "So Harleen, on to business... you know, I really hate your name."

"My name? Why?"

"It sounds like a French whore shopping her goods on the Champs Élysées." He grinned broadly. "You're about as far from a whore as I've ever seen."

Harleen could feel herself blushing under the mask; there was a definite compliment in there for her. "Gee, thanks, _I think_."

The Joker bounced excitedly on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back. "You're really very amusing, Harley."

_Harley_... Harleen thought for a moment and found she liked his nickname for her.

"Yes, you and I are going to go far, my little _Harley Quinn_."

"Isn't a Harlequin a clown?" She asked with a frown.

The Joker nodded as he tossed the needle he'd used to stitch her up. "Umm-hmm."

Harleen snorted. "Do I look like a clown to you?"

Without warning, Harleen found herself flattened against the hard oak desk top. The Joker loomed over her with a deep frown; his dark, fathomless eyes were a void of emptiness she felt herself being sucked into. "Yeah, you do, _Harley._ I know you're a smart girl so remember to mind your p's and q's else I'll be tempted to _co-rrect_ you."

She stayed quiet; watching as humor lightened the Joker's gaze.

He straightened himself and studied her with a burning intensity which made her wriggle just a tad where she lay. "I've been just dying to see what's underneath this mask… " The Joker grabbed another needle from the medical kit and thumbed it thoughtfully. "So how 'bout it, my little _clown girl_, wanna let Uncle Joker take a peek?"

Harleen blinked. "They'll know." She desperately wanted the mask off, but she didn't want any grief from Thurmond or his goons.

"No way around it I'm afraid," The Joker confirmed. "but you'll be coming with me so _they_ won't be able to do much but gnash their teeth." He waggled the needle in front of her. "Ready, _sugarlips_?"

Before she could utter a sound, the Joker seized her by the shoulder and tossed her onto her stomach. Harleen grimaced as she felt his lean, warm body pressing against her rear and lower back as he went to work on the mask.

Strangely, she felt no fear as she had earlier.

_'Why aren't I afraid? I should be terrified.'_

Dexterous fingers slid under the strap at the base of her skull as he delicately fit the needle into the tiny lock at the crown of her head. The strange little scrapings and clicking let her know the Joker was picking the lock. "Just _whistle_ while you work. Put on that _grrr-in_ and start right in to whistle loud and long. Just hum a _merry_ tune."

"Snow White and the Seven Dwarves?" Harleen asked as he continued to hum happily.

"My mother was fond of that movie and I was fond of her," he stopped moving for a moment before resuming his lock picking. "Now shut up so I can think here, Harley."

There was such a lack of malice in his words, Harleen couldn't stifle the manic giggle that escaped her.

"Glad you find my tribulations _am-u-sing_," The Joker muttered. "The lock is starting to give."

A cold click startled Harleen and she jumped; her backside colliding with the Joker's pelvis.

He lowered his head so his lips nearly touched her ear. "_Ooohhh Harley_, better watch out, my luscious little peach - I have stronger willpower than most men, but not when you rub me the, uh, _right_ way." His hot breath was like fire against her ear. "Get my, ah, drift?"

Obediently, Harleen flattened herself against the desk.

"Good girl!" The Joker slapped her across the ass before straightening himself. "So here goes!"

Long fingers pried themselves under her mask, loosening the straps as they wriggled beneath the plastic. A gentle tugging started and a whoosh of air touched skin which had been covered for years; Harleen trembled as the cool tickling sensation inched upward.

Her fingers flexed as suddenly pain bloomed around the area of her left eye. _**"Ow!"**_ Harleen cried out indignantly.

Instantly, she was face to face with the Joker, perched on the edge of the desk between his knees.

The Joker's forehead was wrinkled with disbelief. He craned his head to the left and again gently pried the mask away from her face.

Harleen cried out again as sharp pain stabbed around her left eye.

"_Hmmm_... " The Joker chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. "It would seem we have a _teensy_ problem here, doll."

"What?"

The Joker stared her in the eye unflinchingly. "This _masssk_," he spat the word out in disgust. "has been on so long its fused to the skin around your left eye. I won't be able to get it off without resorting to a little, uh, surgery." He tried to hide the last word behind a cough, but Harleen caught it nonetheless.

"You mean you'd need to cut it off?" Harleen felt her heart clench in her chest.

"Yeah," the Joker sighed. "and I won't lie to you, Harley girl, if I cut it off, no matter how _del-ic-ately_ - it's gonna hurt like a _**bitch**_. Not to mention, you'll collect your first scar." He tapped the mask back into place. "I'd better leave this for your godfather and the doctors to deal with."

Harleen stared at him, awestruck. This was the first person since her mother who had told her the plain truth and without any ulterior motives; for a mass murdering psycho, the Joker was treating her very kindly. She licked her lips nervously.

"You said earlier you wanted to give me a job."

He nodded slowly. "Yeah, but my jobs require you to leave the safety of your little _nest_."

She stared at the drab gray fabric covering his chest. "I want to go with you." Harleen wasn't sure why she trusted this man - this _monster_ - but she did. He could have slaughtered her a dozen times since he'd first caught up with her in the solarium, but he hadn't. _Why would he kill her on the streets of Gotham?_

"I'm leaving here tonight, Harley," The Joker licked his lips. "So your little mask is gonna have to go."

Harleen reached up and touched the smooth plastic for the last time. If she was going to be forced out into the viciousness of Gotham, Harleen was determined to become more _monstrous_ than any of the scum this city produced. _They_ thought she was a murderer, so why not become everything _they_ thought she was?

Looking up, Harleen swallowed tightly.

The Joker was waiting patiently, a faint expression of _amusement_, perhaps, playing around his eyes. He was strong - he was everything Harleen needed to be if she wanted to survive this world. There was little softness in him, if any, but a brutal honesty oozed from his pores.

It was as though his scars screamed, _'Look at me! See the world for what it is - petty, mercurial, uncaring, unfair!'_

"Cut it off." Harleen whispered the words, but there was steel in the tone.

The Joker flipped open the med kit without looking and began rifling through it one handed. "You understand how much this is going to hurt? I won't be able to do anything for the pain, Harley." He glanced into the kit on the desk and pulled out a fair sized razor blade. _"Ah, perrr-fect."_

He pulled the mask a little and severed the bottom swiftly; exposing her lips and chin, allowing the plastic to drop soundlessly to the carpet. The Joker pulled open a desk drawer and rummaged through it for a moment before pulling out an old fashioned wooden ruler.

Tapping her upper lip gently, he smiled; scars stretching broadly. "Open up, _Harleykins_." She obediently opened her mouth and he snorted as he set the ruler across her jaw. "Nice choppers considering how they've taken care of you here. Now feel free to bite down once I get started." Leaning forward, he pressed his cheek against her jaw. "Try to remember _not_ to struggle, I know you're gonna want to fight me. I don't want to slip and, ah, make this worse than it, uh, is gonna be."

Harleen bit down on the ruler; the taste of stale wood gagging her and reminding her of the pencils she once chewed in junior high. Clutching at the edge of the desk, driving her stubby nails into the wood, she nodded at him as he pulled away from her.

"Shall we, _my flower_?" The Joker smiled as he reached for her.

----------

Making short work of the mask, the Joker stood back to study where he'd need to make his incisions. The only plastic left on Harley's face was a diamond shape covering her left eye and extending up just past her eyebrow, to the side of her nose, and down to the top of her cheekbone.

The rest of her face was bare and he took a few precious seconds to study her profile before he started cutting.

Harley was rather pretty, though by no means a stunner, but the gauntness of her features left a bad taste in his mouth. She looked like an escapee from Auschwitz with her hollowed cheeks and pointy collarbones... he was going to have to get her to eat something once they got the hell out of Arkham.

_'Spaghetti, fried chicken, buckets of ice cream, Hershey bars... what the hell else do women complain gets them fat?'_ The Joker asked himself, frowning. _'Chinese? Maybe some French food - there was a nice little bistro on 5th and Cordero - oh hell! I burned that joint down three years ago!'_ He'd been pissed when they refused to serve him after a particularly brutal bank heist; now he wished he had exercised a little more self control. Wasn't French food full of calories?

There was something about an anorexic woman which made his skin crawl, and not much really bothered him, but Harleen was about three sizes up from a living skeleton. No way would he be able to tolerate her presence looking like this.

Women should have some flesh on their bones - something jiggly for him to grab onto and play with. And even though he had _zero_ intention of playing with little Harley in such a manner, the Joker wasn't about to share quarters with a living bag of bones.

He was aware that with his... _smile_ he was quite the hypocrite with his opinion about Harley's looks, but _**tough**_ there were a few things left in the world which still bothered him and starvation was one of them.

Harley's lips were full and perfectly shaped, like a cupid's bow, and her oval face had all the markings of classic loveliness; high cheekbones, a soft chin, small, snub nose, which he curtailed the urge to pinch, and wide, deep blue eyes with the type of lashes models would have killed for.

She was far too petite, her rack would never be as large as he enjoyed seeing on a woman, but her body would have some nice curves in the future - once she ate something substantial.

He almost felt bad about the little _operation_ he was about to perform.

Sighing, the Joker decided there was no time like the present and leaned over Harley with the blade twitching in his fingers.

Grasping the plastic, he pulled and sliced through delicate skin quickly and efficiently. Ignoring the screams welling up in Harley's throat, gagging her, the Joker just kept cutting; keeping his incisions as close to the surface of the skin as possible.

He had no desire to see his little _Harley Quinn_ maimed as he had been.

Frowning as warm blood dribbled down his fingers, the Joker tightened his grip on the now slippery blade. Feeling her beginning to shake beneath him he finished the last stroke and pulled the gory plastic diamond away from Harley's face.

A raw, bloody diamond stretched over Harley's left eye where the plastic had once been; scarlet beads slowly rolled down her ashen face before dripping off her chin like ruddy tears. Her eyelid and the delicate skin just under her eye had been spared due to the eyehole of the mask. He knew all too well that without plastic surgery she was going to have a scar, but hers would be a minor blemish compared to his own.

The Joker had been as careful as any surgeon would have been under such primitive circumstances. She would experience discoloration and a difference in skin texture - the diamond would stand out like a sore thumb - but good makeup application would cover her little flaw for the most part.

He reached out and tenderly stroked her trembling jaw. "I'm sorry about the pain, _really_. Wanna give me the ruler?" Harley opened her mouth just a hair and he whipped the ruler from between her lips. The wood was neatly cracked in half and he experienced the slightest pang of guilt, but it disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.

_'She __**asked**__ me to do it.'_ The Joker reminded himself.

He doubted he would have felt any remorse at all except for the fact Harley reminded him of a little girl on some level; a lost child. And the one thing the Joker prided himself on was never intentionally targeting children... unless they had the misfortune of being present at the wrong time like one of his bank jobs or on those ferries, but he'd never carved or raised his hand to a child.

Harley was weeping, but no noise came from her throat.

Unsure what to do, the Joker patted her on the shoulder. "You're a trooper, kiddo."

He grunted and stumbled backward under the impact of Harley's body as she threw herself against him; her thin arms wrapped around his middle. The Joker glanced around nervously as she began to mewl like a kitten and hot tears soaked through his shirt. It occurred to him he could bomb ferries filled with thousands of people, murder a police commissioner, filet a wannabe Batman on film - but he couldn't handle one injured, weepy woman?

So he stood, arms in the air, with Harley crying all over him, too petrified to move.

A knock sounded at the door, throwing the Joker into action.

He shoved Harley off him and flashed a disgusted look in her direction. "Get a hold of yourself, woman!"

One of the guards, the stupid one, what was his name? _Ah, Peterman._ Peterman stuck his head through the door and recoiled in shock upon seeing Harley laid out on the desk, her face bloody. "She give you a problem? Sanchez and I can… "

"Don't be ridiculous!" The Joker snarled. "_Harley_ and I have come to a mutual agreement. _**If**_ the little lady and I do have _prob-lems_, I think I can take care of her on my own. Capice?"

Peterman swallowed thickly. "Yes, sir."

The Joker made his way around the desk at a steady pace. "So why exactly are you disturbing me?"

"T-the car you a-asked for… " Peterman was so terrified he was stuttering uncontrollably.

The Joker sighed. '_If only I didn't have to deal with morons on a daily basis,'_ he thought to himself, _'but since most of humanity is made up of those with inferior intellects... what can one do?'_

"Yes? What about the car?" He asked politely as though speaking to a small child.

"It's here," Peterman blurted. "How you gonna get to it?"

The Joker smiled as pleasantly as his scarred face allowed. "Magic. Now, answer a question for me, Mr. Peterman. Is Dr. Thurmond still on the premises?"

Peterman nodded quickly.

_"Good,"_ The Joker drawled softly. "Very, very good. I would really like to have a word with him before Harley and I leave. Got a cell phone?"

Instantly, a small blue cell phone was shoved into the Joker's hand.

Smirking, he flipped the phone open and dialed a familiar number; humming happily as he waited for the call to go through. He noticed Harley was on her feet, swaying slightly, her skin rapidly taking on the pallor of a corpse. "Peterman, be a gentleman and help Miss Harley if you would be so kind."

The chunky guard seemed reluctant, but he was far too terrified of the Joker to refuse. He just made it to Harley's side before her blue eyes rolled up into her head and unconsciousness claimed her. She slumped into the guard's arms and he held her with a look of utter revulsion.

The Joker's eyes narrowed.

"Yeah?"

_"Billy-boy!" _The Joker chirped excitedly. "Is everything set to go?"

A deep laugh greeted his ears. "Hell yeah! Tommy is waiting outside in the car for you."

"And my dear friend, _Co-mmissioner Gordon_?"

"He's plenty busy trying to find that Amberton brat."

The Joker chuckled. "Right on track, Billy!" He paused. "You've got the kid, right?"

Billy sighed. "Sadly, yeah I do. The little bastard's been whining all night! _'I want my mother!' 'I want ice cream!' 'I gotta pee!'_ The little sonofabitch is driving me to drink!"

"I'll entertain him when I get there. Say, I'm going to have a few guests along for the ride so make sure my bed has clean sheets and the, uh, _guest room_ is fully stocked."

"Will do, boss." Billy sighed. "Oh, your _boyfriend_, Finley's called half a dozen times to see if you've arrived yet."

The Joker's lips drew into a thin, hard line which gave his permanent smile a slightly deranged look. "Oh really? Invite Earl the Pearl over for tea and crumpets - I'll take care of him when I arrive."

"Sounds good, boss."

Ending the call, the Joker smacked his lips. "Oh Peterman, be a dear and call Sanchez in here for me."

Dumping Harley in the nurse's chair, Peterman was clearly only too glad to get as far away from her as possible. Watching the guard lumber away through narrowed eyes, the Joker sighed. "Again, it seems I have to do everything myself." Scooping Harley into his arms, he was surprised at how light she was and alarmed at how many bones he was feeling. _"Tsk-tsk, Dr. Thurmond,"_ he hissed softly. "You and I need to have a talk about how to treat a lady."

The minute the guards reappeared, the Joker was all genial smiles and light. "Boys, now comes the part where you earn all that money Finley slipped you..."

----------

-Author's note- Sorry for the long delay in posting this chapter! I've been quite ill with the flu, not an excuse, but the truth. I will be more consistent in the future with my updates, I hope you stick with me. Thanks so much to all those who took the time to review! I really appreciate all the thoughts and the constructive criticism. Please read and review!


	6. Escape

Disclaimer: DC Comics owns our beloved Joker and Harley. Please don't sue!

----------

Heaving Harley's unconscious body over his left shoulder, the Joker fiddled with the revolver Sanchez had given him. His progress wasn't halted in the least by Harley - her dead weight was like having a canary perched on his clavicle. Humming a little, he grinned as his little convoy began passing by the occupied cells of his fellow patients.

Stopping in front of 7D, he peered inside.

"You have time to socialize?" Sanchez complained.

The Joker rolled his eyes. "Wherever are your manners? One must always make time to chat with the neighbors." He pressed the intercom button, frowning at the familiar static. _"Heeelloo..._ can you hear me?"

"Unfortunately."

"Dr. Crane, how rude. I'm surprised at you."

A tall, thin figure slowly ambled into view. "I'm sure."

The Joker's brow rose. "Did I disturb you in the middle of _play_ time." He waggled his eyebrows, laughing, as he made a lewd jerking motion with his right hand.

The expression on Jonathan Crane's chiseled, coldly handsome face was one of utter placidity. Sky blue eyes with a core of ice gazed out at the Joker; flickering side to side and drinking in the guards as well as the Joker's special burden. "Not all of us indulge in the more _base_ urges. Making a break for it, are we?"

"Yeah. You're invited if you would care to tag along, _Doctor_."

A cool smirk bent Crane's sensual lips upward. "Unlike most of the fools you employ, I'm quite literate. I did read the papers during your little _- reign of terror - _and your comrades seem to be disposable."

_"Aw,"_ The Joker pouted theatrically. "you're hurting my delicate feelings! Don't worry, I'm not offering you employment, Doc, or should I call you _Scarecrow_? I'm just offering you a ticket out of the mad house."

Crane raised one dark eyebrow. "Are you making off with Quinzel?"

"Jealous?" The Joker giggled madly.

"Hardly," Crane replied dryly. "I studied her briefly when I first started working here. She's clinically insane - you do understand this? I've rarely seen such a unique case of psychosis. Couldn't get a word out of her, even after slipping her a tiny dose of my fear toxin. Quiet as a mouse."

A dark veil settled over the Joker and both of the guards took a step back. "Oh? And, ah, did she have a reaction?"

"No visible reaction aside from severe tremors, but the toxin's side effects included tremors." Crane rubbed his jaw. "Perhaps it may be worth breaking out to study Miss Quinzel… "

"I don't share well with others, _Doctor_." Smacking his lips, the Joker cocked the gun he held. "I like to keep my toys for my own uses. Coming or not?"

"I'm afraid I must decline at this time." Crane smiled. "Good luck with Miss Quinzel."

The Joker snorted. "Enjoy those basket weaving classes, fruitcake." He moved along and thought about stopping at Carmine Falcone's door, but he had a slight aversion to the Italian mob. _'Those inbred cretins have __**no**__ imagination!'_

"Oh Sanchez?"

The older guard swallowed tightly. "Yes, sir?"

"Sir was my _late_ father. I'm the boss."

"Sorry boss," Sanchez quickly replied. "What can I do for you, boss?"

The Joker didn't pause a moment; his stride strong. "How many of the guards belong to me?"

"Fifteen."

"Fabulous. Send three of them down to the good Dr. Thurmond's office to collect him."

Sanchez frowned, hand on his radio. "You're taking Thurmond... alive?"

"No point in taking him dead. I'm not into necrophilia." The Joker laughed wildly as he entered the elevator; shifting Harley just a little so his line of vision was clear. When Peterman, who'd been silently following, tried to step on the elevator, the Joker shook his head. "No, no, no, my chubby friend - I'm afraid this is the end of the line for you." He raised the cocked revolver and pointed it at the now terrified guard.

"Sanchez, you gonna let him kill me?" Peterman pleaded, his eyes betraying his terror. "We're buddies..."

The Joker smirked. "You get his half, Sanchez."

Sanchez shrugged apologetically. "Sorry."

"Why you doing this to me?" Peterman begged.

The Joker smacked his lips. "Well two reasons really. The first is you didn't handle Miss Harley very delicately at all and _I'm_ the only one who gets to play rough with my toys. Second, you're a moron, so in all reality you should be thanking me for putting you out of your _mi-ser-y_." Without missing a beat, he pulled the trigger.

Peterman staggered as the bullet caught him in the forehead, blood flowing freely from the gaping hole in his skull. As the elevator doors closed, he sprawled on the floor; wide eyes seeing nothing.

The Joker laughed so much he almost collapsed and dropped Harley. Tears ran down his face as he danced around the elevator, swinging Harley wildly as he did so. _"Ha-ha-ha-hee-hee-ho!"_ He noticed for the first time how Sanchez had crammed himself in the farthest corner, his fingers twitching near the emergency stop button. "Why so serious?" The Joker's laughter was gone in an instant. "Didn't you see the expression on Chubby's face? It was _**priceless**_!"

Sanchez whipped his hand away from the emergency button. "Uh-huh."

Rolling his eyes, the Joker sighed. "Never mind, Sanchez. Say, did you drop your testicles somewhere up on the fifth floor?" He enjoyed the dull, reddish flush spreading over the other man's face. "Maybe you should go back up and find them."

The elevator door opened to reveal two guards with a gagged and bound Thomas Thurmond struggling between them. The Joker grinned as he shimmied past the group with Harley. He cleared his throat and inclined his head toward the horrified psychiatrist. "Good _ev-en-ing_, gentlemen, and imbecile," the Joker indicated Thurmond. "We'll be soon be leaving the Arkham Fun House for digs that are, ah, frankly more _fun_."

_"Mmmmm..."_ Thurmond was squealing behind his gag and it reminded the Joker of a pig.

Cupping his ear, the Joker leaned over the bound man. "What? Sorry, Doc, I couldn't quite make that out. Rest assured you will completely enjoy the accommodations I have for you at my, uh, pad. In fact," he began in a soft, conspiratorial tone. "you're _tomorrow_ night's entertainment! Wait 'til _Harleykins_ gets a load of you, Doc!"

Grabbing Thurmond by the chin, the Joker bobbed his head up and down maliciously; a sadistic laugh breaking free from his throat as he shoved Thurmond back into the arms of the guards. "It goes without saying, but I'll spell it out in case someone doesn't understand, I expect you to kill anyone who gets in my way."

The Joker's new men stared at one another uneasily as he continued down the corridor.

----------

The ceiling was swaying back and forth gently.

Harleen gagged as her stomach rolled in queasy waves. She held up a hand and thankfully found herself only looking at one extremity instead of several. Blinking, Harleen realized the white film over her left eye was gauze...

_Pain, burning, stinging, raw._

She recalled the Joker cutting off the last vestige of the mask she'd been forced to wear; taking skin and blood right along with it. She knew his actions were because of her requesting he help, but the agony now blooming across her stripped skin made it hard for her to concentrate.

It occurred to her a few minutes later that the ceiling above her was wood, not dingy gray pad.

Stretching out her fingers, Harleen swallowed tightly.

_'Fine linen, ample room, cushiony softness... I'm not in Arkham anymore!'_ Harleen bolted and landed in a heap next to a very large, immaculate bed swathed in soft white sheets with a black comforter pulled back.

She rubbed her fingers against the floor experimentally.

The wood was old, but resurfaced and the reddish oak had been shellacked and polished until it gleamed. She noticed the surrounding walls were clean and painted a soft, pale gray which gave the room a strangely relaxed atmosphere. The nightstand and chest of drawers across the room were both well kept and painted black.

Harleen forced herself to her knees and grabbed the bed linens; hauling herself to her feet.

Swaying unsteadily, Harleen held out her hands as she stumbled towards the huge door looming like a sullen giant across the room.

When the cool brass door knob met her palm, Harleen congratulated herself. She took a deep breath and threw the door open.

The outer room appeared to be nothing more than a huge warehouse, though apparently well taken care of, and furnished with separate living, dining, and work areas; there was even a gleaming kitchen where several men dressed in jeans and sweat shirts congregated.

Harleen staggered forward; bare feet slapping noisily on the cool concrete floor.

"Well, Miss Harley, I was beginning to think you were _never_ going to get up."

Harleen turned toward the darkened dining area. Squinting, she noticed two figures seated at the table - one shape was familiar - the other seemed to that of a very small child. She rubbed her eye and looked again, but the mirage stayed in place.

"C'mere," The Joker ordered. "I haven't got all night, you know. Besides, Preston and I are having ice cream."

"Yeah, chocolate!" A giggly little boy's voice enthused.

Harleen tilted her head, trying to see into the semi-darkness, but only the two outlines were visible. She eased herself across the cavernous room until she stood only a few feet away from the table. Both close enough to see once her eyes adjusted and to smell the sweet, cloying scent of chocolate and cream. Her mouth watered even as her eyes bulged in their sockets.

The Joker's face was like a nightmare.

Stark, snow white, with coal black circles around each eye and garish red smeared haphazardly across his scarred mouth; enhancing the details of his disfigurement to chilling new heights. She knew he had to have painted his face, but the red slapped across his mouth and cheeks reminded her of blood...

_... Blood was everywhere._

_Splashed on the tile floor in the bathroom, arcing insanely across the walls like some art project gone wrong. The sweet coppery smell pungent in Harleen's nose and so thick she could nearly taste the salty liquid on her tongue._

_Weeping, Harleen raised her face and looked into the bathroom mirror._

_A large knot, already black and blue, was blossoming like an obscene flower on her right cheek. Tears burned her tender flesh as the liquid flowed over the cuts and scratches littering her skin. _

_Harleen's eyes caught sight of a tiny foot sticking out of the bath tub at an odd angle. "No... no... Bree... **NO!**"_

_Reaching out with trembling fingers, Harleen yanked the shower curtain back. _

_Screams tore from Harleen's throat as her eyes took in the bloody, butchered body of her four year old sister..._

The little boy seated next to the nightmarish Joker was no more than five. He had burnished gold curls and wide, innocent green eyes which held curiosity as he looked at her. Dressed in khakis and a _Daffy Duck_ tee shirt, little Preston was the picture of a sweet little boy enjoying his ice cream - aside from the fact his face was painted in an eerily similar manner to the Joker.

Harleen lunged forward and pulled the child into her arms.

"Now Harley..." The Joker stood, settling his spoon into the bowl of ice cream at a precise angle.

"Are you okay?" Preston asked with rounded eyes.

Harleen backed into the light. She ran her fingers over the boy's chubby cheeks and sighed as the fleshy pads came away coated with greasy paint. Relieved, she let her forehead rest against the child's temple.

"I'm not a monster," The Joker stated quietly as he slipped into the pool of light beside them. "Do you think I'm a bad man, Preston?"

The little boy shook his head. "Nuh-uh! Mister J is a clown. Right Mister J?"

The Joker beamed. "Exactly so! Why don't you put Preston down so he can enjoy his chocolate ice cream."

Harleen could sense beneath the Joker's affable exterior, deadly seriousness lurked. She bent at the waist and allowed Preston to slip to the floor. He eagerly scampered over to the Joker's side and the Joker ruffled the boy's hair.

"Mister J is going to show me a magic trick later!" Preston shouted excitedly before running back to the table.

"Magic trick?" Harleen echoed hollowly.

The Joker shrugged and jammed his hands into the pockets of his purple, pinstriped trousers. "I may not be a _real_ clown, but I always have a few tricks up my sleeve." He waggled his eyebrows at her. "Now do you want some ice cream before we get down to business?"

Harleen hesitated, but her stomach spoke for her. A rosy blush stained her cheeks as her stomach growled angrily.

Smirking, the Joker offered Harleen his hand. "Gotta eat, _my flower_. It just won't due to have a half-starved Harley Quinn bumbling about."

The three of them ate their ice cream in silence for the most part. It was a strange affair; Preston was happily licking his spoon and babbling to himself, but the Joker stared at Harleen the entire time he ate and all the while said nothing. Harleen tried to keep her eyes on her bowl of ice cream while ignoring the unsettling man across from her.

"... boo-boo?"

Harleen blinked.

Preston was standing next to her chair pointing at her face. "How did you get your boo-boo?"

Harleen's hand drifted up to the large square of gauze covering the area around her left eye. "My boo-boo..."

"Preston," The Joker began in a soft, almost melodic voice - one Harleen had never heard him use before. "It's very rude to point as I explained to you earlier. Harley doesn't want to talk about her, ah, boo-boo."

The boy frowned. "I'm sorry."

Harleen didn't see Preston anymore, but a little golden haired girl with large gray eyes and a shy smile. _'I'm sorry, Harleen. Are you mad about the dolly?'_ Bree held out the porcelain doll their mother had given Harleen on her tenth birthday, a large crack running down the center of her bisque face. _'I dropped her on the stairs.'_

Tears welled up in Harleen's eyes, the ice cream on her tongue tasted like dust. "I'm not mad."

Preston looked confused. "You aren't?"

"It was just a dolly, Bree," Harleen muttered. "Don't be sad, dollies break sometimes. We'll buy another."

"Who is Bree?"

Another face loomed in Harleen's line of vision; a painted, grotesque clown from hell.

She leaned back in the chair, but he only leaned closer to her.

Licking those crimson lips, the Joker tilted his head. "Who is Bree?" He repeated.

"My sister."

He stood. "Ah, I see." Turning, the Joker whistled sharply. "Billy!"

One of the men milling around in the kitchen jogged over. He was around twenty-five with cropped dark blonde hair and serious hazel eyes. Tall, but still lagging a few inches of height compared to the Joker with a good physique; it was clear in a physical confrontation he would hold his own with no problem. He was good looking, but there was a hardness about him which Harleen picked up on at once.

"Yeah, boss?"

The Joker ruffled the little boy's hair again. "Take a few of the guys with you and drop Preston here off at _Commissioner_ Gordon's office down town. I'm sure he would like to see his mommy." Leaning toward Billy, he dropped his voice down a few octaves, but Harleen could still hear him. "Get the boys outside on patrol, it's a warm night - no need for them to be loafing around in here."

Billy shot a glance in Harleen's direction. "Gonna break her in?"

A harsh laugh, almost ending on a sob broke free from the Joker's throat. "Billy you _slay_ me at times! No nookie with the employees, I always say. I thought Harley could be gently introduced to my service through watching me deal with the lawyer."

"She isn't gonna stay long if you do that." Billy warned.

"Harley Quinn is here for the long haul," The Joker's voice dripped with confidence. "I'm going to make her... just like me."

Billy took the little boy's hand, shooting a sympathetic look in Harleen's direction. "Whatever you say, boss. Me and the boys are out of here."

Preston wouldn't budge. "What about my magic trick?"

The Joker laughed with delight and Harleen shuddered. "Sorry son, I have a guest who's been, ah, languishing away. I'll have to make this quick so..." he strolled over to where Preston and Billy stood and pulled a pencil out of his hip pocket. Leaning down, he shoved the pencil into Preston's chubby hands as he whispered in the boy's ear. Harleen watched the Joker's wild gesticulations with growing dread as the grin on his painted face only grew more broad and pronounced. "... _**TA-DA!**_"

The little boy looked up in awe. "WOW!"

Billy's brow had risen considerably, but he knew when to keep his trap shut and simply began to haul the child toward the kitchen.

"Oh and Preston?" The Joker called in a sing-song voice.

"Yes?" The little boy responded diligently.

The Joker's smile was gone. "Tell your dad he still reminds me of my father."

"Okay."

The Joker didn't move until every last one of his men - and Preston - were gone.

Harleen stood and eased herself backwards. The hunched posture, the manner in which his head was slightly bowed, the fists clenched at his side - this was the man who'd frightened her in the solarium at Arkham. He seemed to take no notice of her movements, until she bumped into a side table.

The groaning scrape of wood against concrete was as loud as a gunshot in the oppressive quiet.

The Joker abruptly turned on his heel, glaring. "Where do you think you're going, Harley?"

Harleen froze. "Nowhere."

"The first rule of your employment is not to lie to me," The Joker stated in a falsely pleasant voice as he advanced on her. "See, I'm a man of my word and I expect that kind of honesty in return. So, try again."

She hugged herself to stop herself from shaking. "Away from you."

He raised one eyebrow. "Why?"

"You scare me when you act like this," Harleen replied quietly.

The Joker towered over her and she could feel the malicious intent rolling off of him in waves. _"Good,"_ he pronounced angrily. "You should be afraid of me - half the time, _I'm_ afraid of me. See, I never know exactly what I'm going to do until its crunch time and decisions must be made."

"Gabe said you planned out everything you did last summer."

He frowned slightly; his scars puckered. "Gabe?"

"The janitor," Harleen whispered. "He told me all about you."

The Joker laughed. "I thought you didn't talk, you little minx!"

Harleen shook her head. "I didn't, he talked to me when he cleaned my cell."

Smacking his lips, the Joker scratched his chin thoughtfully. "So you knew what a naughty boy I'd been and you _still_ came with me; even after I offered to leave you in your little nest. You're completely _cr-a-zy_, Harley!" A smile cracked his face and he snatched Harleen into his arms as though he were going to dance with her. "You and I belong together! Like Astaire and Rogers, gasoline and matches, Bonnie and Clyde!"

Harleen gagged slightly as a wave of dizziness overtook her; the Joker swinging her wildly about the room as he half-danced, half-dashed across the warehouse. Everything blurred and she had the strange feeling she was flying...

The breath was driven from her body as she collided with cold concrete. Her head smacked the wall and darkness wavered on the edge of her vision. He stood over her as Harleen slid slowly down until she was huddled on the floor.

"Just remember," The Joker's voice had turned cold. "You be honest with me, I'll be honest with you - I'll even tell you when I'm going to kill you. Consider that one of the perks of being my, uh, _right hand gal_. I never tell the guys when their services are no longer required, but I like you, so I'll make an exception."

Harleen shook the cobwebs from her head. "Why not kill me now?" He obviously had few qualms about hurting her.

He laughed so hard he bent at the waist, clutching his middle. "Harley, I don't want to kill you! I _need_ you around, but if I have to take you out, I will. I'll just warn you first, I'm a man of my word." Straightening slowly, the Joker reached down and captured her hand. Pulling her up, he steadied her against the wall. "We're a lot alike, you and I, but you're still relatively _normal_." Leaning down, his warm, chocolate scented breath fanned her cheek. "However, I see the little freak in you. Oh, you try to hide her so hard, but I still see her in your eyes, _sugarlips._"

"Tell me the truth now," he pulled back and stared her in the eye. "Did you take an axe to the your family like everyone thinks?"

Harleen whimpered. "I don't know." She tried desperately to recall, but the only true memories she had were coming home and finding her mother and then later finding Bree trisected in the bathtub; dark blanks existed between those two points of horror. "Not my mother, I found her dying, but I don't know about the rest."

The Joker's face twisted into a strained grimace and he released her like she was a hot coal. "Found mommy on the brink of death, huh? How _tragic_." He reached out and sharply rapped on a huge metal door beside them. "Tonight you are going to get your first introduction to _my_ way of doing things. Bloody, yeah. Necessary, absolutely. See, you let people get away with disrespect Harley and you end up dead in our business. I'm gonna toughen you up, girly."

He pulled the door open with a flourish and shoved her into the cold, yellow light flooding the room. "Oh Earl, Harley and I've come to visit!"

Earl Finley was gagged and strapped to a chair in the center of the room under several large lamps. He was covered with a fine sheen of sweat; two damp circles ringing each armpit and the crotch of his Brooks Brothers trousers was wet. A huge yellow puddle was just below the chair and the stench of urine was thick in the air.

The Joker's brow rose as he slammed the door shut and threw the lock into place. "Whew! I thought you had more self control, Earl, but obviously not." He began to unbutton his green waistcoat with surprisingly nimble fingers as he crossed the room. "I shouldn't be too surprised seeing as how you've acted like a little punk since we first met."

Harleen watched in growing horror as the Joker neatly hung his waistcoat from a peg and began rolling up the sleeves of his deep gray dress shirt. "How embarrassing you've pissed yourself in front of a lady." The Joker jerked at the knot of his tie, loosening it, before hanging the scrap of silk on another peg beside his waistcoat. "Not exactly the way I'd wanna go out, but we're all different I suppose."

A small metal table on wheels sat below the pegs. A deep blue cloth was spread across it and Harleen could make out what appeared to be all manner of silver tools. Humming, the Joker turned over a few things, but stopped his perusal.

"C'mere Harley," he ordered quietly.

She crept to his side; careful to avoid the pleading eyes of her former attorney.

The light bounced and glittered off gleaming silver blades in every shape and size; wicked serrated edges yawned like shark teeth, demanding blood sacrifice in order to be appeased. Those sharp, single edged blades were just as cruel looking - and just as deadly.

The Joker swept his hands over the assortment. "What do you think, Harley?"

Mouth dry, heart pounding, Harleen knew he was going to force her to transform into the murderer she'd vowed to become before he took her from Arkham. If not tonight, soon. The thought had bile pooling at the back of her throat, but she swallowed it back.

"I don't like knives." She murmured.

He chuckled darkly. "I do - so you better get used to them." Picking up a large knife with a black grip and serrated blade, the Joker swished it through the air experimentally. "Knives are much better than guns in showing you who a person really is; down deep in their putrid little souls. Guns get the job done, no doubt about it, but its too quick."

"I like quick," Harleen whispered. "and clean."

The Joker's dark eyes lightened with an emotion Harleen almost thought was affection. "I'll get you a gun if you prefer, but you're still gonna learn about knives. You're such a _girl_," he smirked and ran his fingers through her hair lightly. "Now go stand by the door and observe."

She had only taken two steps when he cleared his throat.

Turning, she found he'd pulled on a pair of black leather gloves and had the wicked looking knife firmly in hand. "Try not to vomit - I hate the smell of vomit. You'll distract me and I won't be able to _savor_ all of Earl's pathetic little emotions." He grinned and tapped the blade against his palm. "What else? Oh yes, no talking, no pleading for mercy on Earl's behalf, and no leaving the room until I'm finished."

Harleen nodded and did exactly as the Joker asked. She pressed her back to the wall beside the door and realized she had an excellent view, much to her distress. Harleen hadn't cared for Earl Finley, but she certainly didn't want to murder the man.

"You may, however, feel free to scream, cry, and cover your eyes from time to time." The Joker concluded as he fairly skipped over to the terrified, bound lawyer. "So Earl, here we are all alone together - except for Harley, but don't pay any attention to her. She's here to learn a few things this evening and we're going to start her, uh, _education_."

Ripping out Earl's gag, the Joker leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against the other man's numb lips. "Isn't that what you wanted?" The Joker asked. "I'm afraid I can't give you anything more. Alas, I adore the feminine gender far too much for my own good." He shoved the gag back into Earl's mouth and tapped him on the head with the flat of the blade. "Shall we begin?"

Earl began to scream and the Joker frowned; his nose twitching in disgust. "You just crapped your britches didn't you?" He sighed as he jammed the knife expertly into the thinner man's forearm. "This is going to be a very long night."

Harleen closed her eyes as Earl wailed behind the gag.

----------

- A/N - Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews! I'm so thrilled you took the time to respond and that reading the story has brought you pleasure. After the next chapter, things will really start to get rolling! Please review and let me know what you think! Oh, I received a PM asking me who the visual inspiration for this Harley Quinn was and I have to confess she was no one famous. I was in Boston last September and noticed this Goth/Punked out girl and I just thought, Holy Cow! Nolanverse Harley Quinn!!! I promise you Harley will not end up looking like a Goth. Again, thank you all!


	7. Falling Away

Disclaimer: DC Comics owns everything. Please don't sue!

----------

"Commissioner! Commissioner, we have a problem!"

Lowell Amberton and his wife, Molly, had been riding Gotham City Police Commissioner Jim Gordon's ass for endless hours now. Demanding to know exactly what progress had been made on the kidnapping of their five year old son, Preston. Molly Amberton, a woman of extraordinary poise at the youthful age of thirty-two, had turned into a vengeful shrew; threatening Gordon with the FBI, the Mayor, and the wrath of several United States senators when it became clear there was no progress to be made.

Preston Amberton's nanny had been clobbered over the head in the Amberton penthouse and Preston was quite simply - gone. Like a puff of smoke. The building security cameras and private guards caught nothing. _Nada._

The Gotham City Police Department was shit out of luck.

Jim Gordon sighed and thrust a hand through his dark hair. "What the hell else can go wrong? Okay, Sampson, fill me in." The sight of Lowell Amberton supporting his weeping young wife was enough to sicken the new Commissioner of the Gotham City Police Department.

Lowell Amberton had, months earlier, directly engaged the Joker at Harvey Dent's fundraiser. _'You remind me of my father,' The Joker stated with a grimace before a blade was instantly pressed against the middle-aged billionaire's mouth. 'I __**hated**__ my father!'_ Only Rachel Dawes intervention had saved Lowell from certain death or disfigurement.

Gordon had considered the Joker a prime suspect, for all of ten minutes. There was no way the crazed clown could have ordered such a meticulously orchestrated kidnapping from the high security wing at Arkham.

"The Joker broke out of Arkham earlier tonight. Took fifteen guards with him, Thomas Thurmond, and..." Jill Sampson froze for a moment, biting her bottom lip.

"What else?" Gordon prodded.

Detective Sampson frowned. "Harleen Quinzel was kidnapped and Earl Finley has gone missing as well."

Horror flooded Jim Gordon. _"Goddamnit!"_ His phone rang and he answered with an uncharacteristic snarl. _"What?"_

Detective Gerard Stephens cleared his throat. "You okay?"

Gordon drew in a deep breath, calming himself, before daring to speak. "Not really, but I'll deal with it later. What have you got for me?"

"I have Preston Amberton."

Jim Gordon blinked. "Sorry... you what?"

Gerry Stephens was deathly serious. "Preston Amberton was left on the steps of City Hall about ten minutes ago. I have him here at the Main Precinct, safe and sound."

"Thank god," Jim breathed.

Gerry cleared his throat. "You may want to get down here pronto and see the kid for yourself before we release him to the Ambertons."

A creeping sense of dread filled Jim's chest until he could barely breathe. "Was the boy hurt?"

"No," Gerry's voice held a note of reluctance. "We've called in a doctor from Mercy Hospital and she hasn't found a mark on the kid so far. Just come and see for yourself - I think someone is trying to leave a message for us."

Jim frowned. "I'm on the way. Sit tight and make damn sure not a word of this gets leaked to the press."

"Will do."

Turning, Jim sized up the young woman standing beside him. Jill Sampson was everything Ramirez and Wuertz hadn't been - honest. Dark skinned, with large, penetrating eyes, and a beautiful smile, Jill had worked her way up from a patrol officer in the Narrows to the Vice squad to the GCPD gang unit and finally, the Major Case squad. For a man who had his trust broken so badly, and Jim was still smarting from the betrayals he'd suffered during the Joker incident, he was willing to trust this woman. They had known each other for twelve years and Jim had her thoroughly investigated by IA before moving her into Ramirez's spot.

"Jill," he called her over quietly. "I need you to handle a matter of the utmost urgency and sensitivity."

She nodded. "Of course, what is it, Commissioner?"

He drew her away from the other officers and the Ambertons into Lowell's private library; shutting the door firmly behind him. "I need you to get to Sharon Kennison and have her get a court order for Harleen Quinzel's medical records from Arkham. Supposedly, Dr. Thurmond was going to send those records to Earl Finley, but with Finley gone I have no idea if that happened. I also need you to go down the GCPD records warehouse and obtain every record pertaining to Harleen Quinzel as well as the evidence archives." Jim frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I want _everything_ on Quinzel and I want it at my office asap. Once you've finished with Harleen Quinzel, I want you to visit IA and have Detective Joseph Quinzel's jacket pulled and brought to my office as well."

Jill looked floored. "May I ask why, sir? The Quinzel murders were solved eleven years ago."

"No they weren't," he replied. "If the Joker took Harleen Quinzel, it may be to use her against me, but I have a feeling there's more to it. The Joker never seemed to give a fig about revenge per say - he likes to create _chaos_. I won't let him use a young woman who's already been abused and neglected long enough."

"I'll get right on it."

_"Harleen, I want you to remember I'm coming back for you." Jim kept his voice steady, his tone patient and warm. "I promise you nothing bad is going to happen, sweetheart. Ms. Kennison, Earl, and I are going to get you the hell out of here."_

Jim took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily. "Oh Harleen, I'm so sorry, honey." He remembered the way she had started to cry, but quietly. "I'll get you back if its the last thing I ever do."

----------

The Joker stared down at the slumbering figure of Harleen Quinzel with a puzzled expression. She was curled up in a fetal position beneath his comforter - sucking her thumb, forefinger rubbing back and forth across her nose. She looked like a little girl to him; all innocence and sweetness.

He sat on the edge of the bed watching her with all the intensity of a hawk studying a sparrow.

Harley Quinn had passed his first test by the skin of her teeth.

The Joker had just started carving into Earl when she had collapsed to her knees, hands slapped over her eyes. He had taken his sweet time with the wailing, struggling lawyer, but his _pleasure_ had been severely compromised by Harley's reaction. Instead of savoring Earl's last breaths, some three hours after he'd begun, the Joker found himself keen to simply finish up.

Harley had returned to a standing position, eyes peeled, when he'd roughly demanded she do so, but her expression had turned strangely dreamy - the Joker had known her mind had skipped out at that point. The realization had ruined the rest of the evening for him and he finished Earl off quickly.

_'Let's put a **smile** on that face, grumpy,' he fairly sang to the nearly eviscerated man. 'You're too serious for your own good!'_

The Joker had sliced Earl's face into a grin that made his own scars look like beauty marks.

Harley hadn't said a word while he cleaned the blood off his knife and scrubbed his hands until they were nearly raw. It wasn't until he led her from the room that his little Harley Quinn found her voice. _'Did you kill him because he was gay?'_

The Joker remembered laughing hysterically at her naiveté. _'No, no! I could care less about my associates sexual preferences. Had nothing to do with what I did back there. Earl had to go because he was weak... pathetic. He followed my instructions well enough I suppose, but he didn't have a handle on his emotions. See,' he tried his best to explain. 'Earl was a squealer - and a rat can never be trusted.'_

_She had frowned, a charming furrow forming in the center of her brow._ _'How do you know he was a rat?'_

_'I just know,' he'd replied as he guided her to the bedroom. 'Let's say I have a sixth sense for the squealers.'_

He'd tucked Harley into bed like she was a sleepy toddler instead of a full grown woman before pulling a pillow off the bed. The Joker had made due with the floor, he'd slept on far more uncomfortable surfaces, and caught a few hours of shut eye. He didn't need an alarm clock - never had - instead relying on his internal alarm to get him up.

Drawing back the comforter, the Joker smacked his lips before dropping the blanket back into place.

She was still wearing the same dingy Arkham scrubs she had on yesterday. He would have to do something about her clothes - he appreciated nice things, including clothes, despite his reputation for the opposite. He just didn't believe in spending money on the frivolities most of the sheep in Gotham yearned and schemed to possess.

The Joker was a man of simple tastes - he liked gasoline, gun powder, dynamite, and knives. Best of all, every one of those items were fairly cheap. That being said, he did spend when a purpose was being served.

He had a comfortable hide out in the depths of the most broken down, ruined area in all of Gotham; it wasn't a grand estate like those mob fools, Falcone, Gambol, and Maroni, owned. But his men seemed happy and the Joker didn't find himself sleeping in a trash heap teeming with vermin. He owned custom suits, granted the twelve suits in his closet were identical down to the last stitch, but the Joker enjoyed the way they fit him and his image was intimately connected to the outfit - a purpose served.

The Joker wasn't going to have Harley looking like the Arkham escapee she was in his presence.

"We're going to visit the tailor," he chuckled lowly. "once you've gained a little weight."

Standing, he left Harley slumbering and eased out into the warehouse. Billy was seated on the couch, diligently punching keys on his lap top. The younger man didn't bother looking up as the Joker approached him; most men wouldn't have heard the Joker at all, but Billy wasn't most men.

"Morning boss," Billy drawled. "What can I do you for?"

The Joker paced in front of the couch. "I need you to go out and pick up some clothes for Harley."

Billy continued typing. "Okay. Did she have any special requests?"

"She's still sleeping," The Joker replied. "What do young women wear day to day? Jeans and some shirts. Underclothes, socks, sneakers... and some smelly soaps that girls love so much."

A grin split Billy's face. "How the hell am I supposed to know what size she is?"

Most men who sassed the Joker in such a manner would have been bleeding to death at this point. The Joker liked Billy, so he merely ignored the other man's wise ass retort. "Guess, just bring Harley back something to wear. Now get out of my sight."

Billy wisely scrammed.

The Joker flopped onto the couch and cracked his neck before settling back; staring at the ceiling. He smiled slightly at the thought of breaking Commissioner Gordon at the same moment he broke little Harley like the precious china doll she was. _'Two birds with one stone.'_

At first, he'd had no intention of keeping Harley longer than a few weeks - just long enough to drive Gordon completely nuts. The Joker's master plan had involved a long walk and a short drop for the _poor_ little dove, but she was strong. Much stronger than he'd given her credit for and he was intrigued. She was the first person to ever trust him implicitly with a blade in his hand; the first to not stare at his scars while speaking to him.

Harley looked him in the eye and he respected her for it.

He knew she'd been horrified by his Joker persona, with the make-up and costume, but Harley still spoke to him as though he were normal and not a _freak_.

The Joker hated being treated like a leper. He despised the weakness of his fellow humans once they got an eyeful of his ever-so-handsome mug. The reaction was always the same; horror, disgust, and panic. No one could stomach the sight of him for long - not his grandmother, not his foster parents, not the social workers, not his fellow criminals, not even the whores he'd paid to bed down with him.

Harley was worth keeping around.

"Mr. Joker?" The soft, tentative female voice sent a shiver of anticipation straight up the Joker's spine.

"Speak of the devil," he drawled before glancing at the opposite end of the couch. "Sleep well?"

Harley nodded. "Yes."

The Joker patted the seat beside him. "Take a load off, kiddo, I need to check your wound. Can't have infection wiping you out - that wouldn't be fun _at all_!" He had applied a strong antiseptic gel to the diamond shaped wound around her eye and bandaged her up the night she'd arrived.

She perched gingerly on the edge of the cushion; careful to not touch him. "Do I have to wear the bandage much longer?"

He eased the medical tape off and peeled back the gauze slowly. The wound was a deep, angry red still weeping pale, rusty fluid, but crusting over nicely in some spots. Smacking his lips together, he grinned at her. "Harley, girl, I think we can lay off the gauze for the time being. A little fresh air and some proper nutrition should start healing you up nicely."

"Good," she murmured.

Awkward silence stretched out between them.

The Joker stood and made his way into the kitchen. "So time for breakfast, toots. What'll it be?"

"Captain Crunch."

He chuckled as he reached into a lower cabinet and pulled out a cereal box. _**"TA-DA!" **_The Joker leaned toward her with a genuine smile, one reflected in the depths of his dark eyes. "I told you I had a few tricks up my sleeve. Billy-boy loves this crap too so enjoy. I'm having a real breakfast - eggs, toast, and bacon."

"You can cook?" Harley asked in astonishment as she nabbed the cereal box.

The Joker laughed. "Course I can, ding-dong. Who'd you think fed me all these years? Mom always said, ya gotta look out for yourself because no one else in this world gives a rat's ass about you."

"What happened to her?" Harley asked before stuffing a handful of cereal into her mouth straight from the box.

Such an impertinent question might have drawn his full ire if asked by anyone else, but the Joker couldn't muster even an ounce of anger toward her. Harley was sincere in her inquiry and he recognized the all too rare quality.

He looked up from the frying pan and shook his head. "She died. End. Of. Story." The harshness of his voice clearly expressed his desire to drop the subject. Sadness leached into him at the memory of long golden hair shining in the summer sun and the scent of mimosas...

_'Jack! Stay out of the rose bed, sweetheart!'_

The Joker shook his head, but the memory of his mother's laughter and the smell of her perfume still lingered.

"I'm sorry," Harley laid one tiny hand on top of his; her skin was cool and dry, but strangely comforting. "I shouldn't have asked."

His lips quirked as he looked at her. "So don't do it again." The Joker advised in a stern voice as he slid his hand free of her grasp. Something about her mouth caught his attention and he chuckled before flicking his index finger across her upper lip. "You had a few crumbs..."

Harley backed away from him in an instant, stuffing her face with Captain Crunch. "Yeah?" She mumbled, mouth full. "There's more where those came from."

The Joker laughed almost uncontrollably.

---------

The pair sat eating in companionable silence across the table from one another.

Harley devoured the entire box of Captain Crunch, much to the Joker's amusement - though he made a mental note to hide Billy's gun upon his return - before starting in on the bowl of grapes he'd brought to the table earlier. Any worries about her appetite had fled from his mind as she continued to eat. With any luck, he'd be able to bring her to the tailor in a month.

"Hey," he managed to get her attention. "I have a present for you."

Charming little lines formed in the center of Harley's forehead. "Oh? What kind of present?"

The Joker shrugged. "Just a little something from Arkham I thought you'd enjoy. I'll show it to you tonight."

Before she could ask the question her mouth was opening to pose; the main doors to the warehouse slid open with a slight groan. Billy entered with two of the Joker's more senior men - all of them loaded down with shopping bags. He noted with growing glee that all three wore expressions of discontent ranging from minor to - in Billy's case - extreme. In fact, Billy seemed very put out as he dumped his bags on the couch.

"You owe me three hundred bucks!" Billy shouted. "Hope it all fits 'cause I'm not bringing anything back."

The Joker smirked as he made his way over to his henchman. "Oh stop being such a whiny pants!" Leaning close to Billy, he licked his scars. "If you can't control yourself, William, I'll gut you like a fish."

The others backed away murmuring amongst themselves.

Billy's eyes were bright with anger, but he nodded with obvious respect.

Another of the Joker's men, Pavel, entered with three enormous rottweilers on leashes. The animals were wagging their stumpy tails and whining as they pulled their muscular handler toward the Joker as though the brawny Russian were nothing more than a feather.

_"Ha!"_ The Joker cried as he knelt with his arms spread wide. "Children! How I've missed my boys!" He'd admired the Chechen's magnificent pooches the moment he'd laid eyes on the half-starved purebreds. He respected animals, something which surprised most people, and the Joker prized dogs over any other animal.

Dogs were loyal - they had nothing to prove - wanted nothing but to be loved and fed.

Perhaps the Joker didn't understand the concept of _love_... exactly. He did however comprehend loyalty along with the desire to eat; he abhorred the idea of starving any living creature. The Joker had killed his share of people, but he'd killed them quick enough. Even Earl had died faster than those in Sudan or one of the many hell holes around the world where people starved to death every day.

Rubbing ears and bellies, the Joker felt himself relax. A wet, slobbering tongue traced a molten path down the side of his neck. Giggling at the sensation, he felt a distinct _tickle_ at the memory of the same tongue licking up the Chechen's spilled blood as the other two dogs tore chunks of flesh from the former mobster's dead body. He'd had the Chechen killed as much for half-starving his dogs as for daring to call the Joker a freak in front of the other men.

Allowing disrespect bred contempt among the those who lacked the balls to take the reigns of power on their own.

"Pavel," The Joker began cheerfully. "Have you fed my boys?"

"I feed dogs steak like you say." Pavel ground out in badly accented English.

"Good." The Joker stood and crooked a finger at Harley. "C'mon over, Harls. I want you to meet my sweet little boys."

Harley wandered over still munching grapes. She didn't voice her unease, but the Joker could see her every emotion; she was cursed with a very expressive face and he had a certain _expertise_ at reading people. "You have dogs? I didn't see you as the type to have puppies, Mister J."

The Joker leaned towards her; sucking at the scars gracing the interior of his cheeks. "I'm full of surprises, sweetheart. Harley meet my boys - Boris, Ivan, and Vadim. Boys meet your new mommy, Miss Harley Quinn." He pointed at each dog in turn. "No biting Harley or I'll turn you into a fur hat. Harley, no biting the boys or I'll slice your pretty little lips off."

"What about you?" Harley asked archly.

_"Me?"_ The Joker, wanting to laugh, managed to keep an innocent - offended even - tone of voice. "You think I would actually _bite_ someone?"

"Yes."

"How rude!" He replied mischievously. "I only bite when I'm asked."

Harley's eyebrows rose.

"She doesn't believe you - show's she's smart!" Billy called out as he searched the kitchen cabinets. "Hey who ate my _effing_ Captain Crunch!"

The Joker pulled out the pistol he kept in his pocket and fired it at the ceiling.

Everyone froze and the rottweilers surrounded the Joker, growling low in their throats at the others present.

"Anyone who opens their trap gets a bullet. Questions?"

No one said a word.

The Joker nodded and waved the gun around absently. "Good! Harley, go try on your new duds while I visit with my boys. Billy, I want you to keep on that little project we spoke about earlier."

Harley finished the rest of her grapes before gathering the bags of clothing and toiletries and heading into his bedroom. He waited until she shut the door before looking Billy's way. "How is the good Doctor Thurmond holding up?" The Joker gently massaged the back of Ivan's ear before a wet muzzle was thrust into his other palm; Boris was a tricky fellow and very demanding. He gave Boris the same treatment.

Vadim had the quietest personality out of the three dogs and was perfectly content to curl up and snooze on the Joker's couch; which is exactly what he did.

Billy looked up from the bacon he was frying. "Well, boss, not so good. Thurmond looks like he's already dead. Won't eat, won't drink. Just kind of lays there and sleeps."

"Too bad," The Joker murmured. "I suppose he's preparing himself for the inevitable, but Harley won't have very much _fun_ if Thurmond's all compliant."

Billy chewed a piece of bacon thoughtfully. "You're gonna make her kill that chicken shit?"

"I'm not gonna make sweet Harley do anything she doesn't want to do." The Joker answered with a giggle. "Trust me, Billy-boy, Harley _wants_ to kill the man who held power over her all those years. She'll find it to be, uh, liberating. Did you manage to clean out the GCPD storage facility of the Quinzel evidence?"

Billy nodded. "The guys are on their way back with everything. Why so interested in a crime that happened eleven years ago?"

"I have a feeling Harleykins didn't kill anyone in that house." The Joker's dark eyes grew hollow and cold. "I'll be cleaning up Earl's mess - make _sure_ you come get me when the evidence arrives. I don't want Harley catching wind of my little, ah, investigation."

Billy murmured his assent and watched his boss disappear into his _work room_. The door slammed loud enough a couple of the guys jumped, but Billy just kept eating. He'd been working for the Joker so long it took a lot to rattle him.

----------

Preston Amberton's small face was painted in an exact replica of the Joker's visage.

Jim Gordon frowned for a moment and turned to the young doctor standing beside him. "Thanks for coming, Dr. Jimenez. You didn't find anything wrong with Preston?"

The dark-haired young woman shook her head. "No sir. There are no bruises or contusions of any kind - not even a paper cut. I couldn't find any evidence of dehydration either. All in all, Preston is in great shape, but I do suggest the Amberton's take him to see the family pediatrician just to be safe."

Stephens showed the doctor from Gordon's office and packed her off with a patrol officer back to Mercy Hospital.

Jim was squatting in front of Preston and smiling at the boy. "Who painted your face like that, son?"

Preston smiled brightly. "Mister J!"

"Mister J?" Jim echoed before realization widened his blue eyes. "Is Mister J the Joker?"

"I guess." Preston shrugged his small shoulders. "Someone else called him that."

Jim nodded thoughtfully. "Can you tell me who else was there besides Mister J?"

Preston began counting silently on his chubby fingers. "Nine people I saw, but only two stayed in the room with us."

"And can you describe the two?" Jim cajoled.

"One was a guy with sorta brown, short hair." Preston squinted in concentration. "The other one was a crazy lady who didn't like her ice cream."

Jim's heart soared and he fought to keep his voice steady. "Oh? Was she wearing a strange mask?"

"Nah, she had a boo-boo on her eye though," Preston said sadly. "She was wearing a really big band-aid on it."

_No mask..._ the idea of Harleen being hurt made Jim want to scream, to break something. It took every ounce of his much touted self-control _not_ to begin ripping apart his own office. "Did she say anything?"

"She talked about a doll and her sister. I didn't hear her say anything else."

Jim nodded. "Okay, Preston, I'm going to send you home to your parents with Detective Stephens." He motioned to a young patrol officer and smiled. "Parker, can you get young Preston here cleaned up while I'm talking to Detective Stephens?"

Parker grinned and laid one hand on the little boy's head. "Sure can, Commissioner."

Gordon waited until the boy was gone from the room. "I don't want you to mention anything about the Joker's little face painting episode to Molly Amberton - she's already long gone off the deep end with worry. Pull aside Lowell and let him know; tell him this may be an auspicious time to take the family on an overseas vacation."

Gerry Stephens frowned. "You think the Joker wants revenge on Amberton?"

"No," Jim clarified. "I think the Joker is going to pull off something big and I don't want this kid in the crossfire." Jim's mobile trilled with a familiar ring tone. "What have you got, Sampson?"

"The Quinzel evidence is gone. The property clerks can't find it, Commissioner."

Jim Gordon's fingers tightened on the small mobile, but he kept his rapidly dwindling composure. "Get to the DA and get to Internal Affairs before Joe Quinzel's file turns up missing as well."

Sampson's voice was troubled. "Will do."

Gordon sighed and shook his head. "I need to get a hold of Mayor Garcia and Detective Carver up at Arkham and sort out that godforsaken mess. Can you get back down here after dealing with the Ambertons?"

"Yeah, I'll get my ass back here on the double." Stephens paused. "I sure as hell wish we had the Batman here now."

"You and me both," Jim Gordon breathed. "I think we're on our own here."

----------

The clothes Billy had bought were a little baggy, but Harleen was grateful for them anyway.

She had showered in the Joker's private bathroom before pulling on a pair of jeans, tee shirt, and a black hoodie. The second set of sneakers Billy had picked up fit her perfectly and Harleen enjoyed the feel of having a real pair of shoes on for the first time in years.

Pushing her damp hair back, Harleen leaned toward the bathroom mirror and stared at her reflection. A giant reddish-purple diamond shaped scar now marred the pale, otherwise flawless, skin of her face. She didn't touch the still stinging wound - her fingers hovering in the air over the sore lesion.

_'My scar is a beauty mark compared with his.'_ Another thought occurred to Harleen which nearly took her breath away. _'This little diamond is rather... pretty.'_

She giggled. "I can't say the Joker's never given me anything."

Logically, Harleen was well aware she should be terrified by him. The Joker was a criminal, a terrorist, a maniac of the first order, but she had seen something in his eyes which fascinated her. In those deep brown, almost obsidian depths, Harleen witnessed kindness and a wry sense of humor. She'd also seen rage and hatred staring out at her, yet it was the softer emotions she dwelled on.

Those eyes of his betrayed the fact despite his relative youth, Harleen guessed he was only two to three years her senior, he had seen more than most people ever would. Those eyes could make him look decades older when he was tired... the thought depressed her.

She pitied him because in some ways he was just like her - only far more violent.

A sharp rap on the door ended her rumination.

"Oh _Harley Quinn_," The Joker sing-songed. "Are you decent?"

She crossed the bedroom and opened the door.

The Joker was wearing his purple suit coat once more and grinning deliriously down at her. "A huge improvement, darling! Still not exactly _fashionable_, but far better than Arkham chic. Speaking of Arkham, look what your Uncle Joker brought with us from that rat hole." Seizing her, he pulled Harleen out into the main room. A familiar man was kneeling on the floor, gagged and bound like a trussed up turkey. _**"TA-DA!"**_

Harleen's heart sank like a stone.

Doctor Thomas Thurmond was staring up at her with unconcealed hatred in his eyes.

"What is this?" Harleen muttered. "Where is everybody?"

The Joker laid his arm heavily across her shoulders. "I sent the guys out to patrol the grounds and on errands. See, I didn't want you suffering from, ah, performance _anx-ie-ty_." He pulled something out of his pocket and waved it in front of her face. "I even went out and bought you a little present."

A small silver gun was pressed into her hands.

"I know you said you liked quick and clean." He smacked his lips. "Its automatic, so point and shoot. Shall I demonstrate?"

"No," Harleen shoved the weapon down her shirt and tucked it into her loose fitting bra. "Why is he here?"

The Joker was eyeballing the prominent bulge between her small breasts. "You don't play fair, Harley. Okay, so I thought it was time for you to prove yourself to me by passing a little test." He giggled sickly. "No written exam, I promise. Anyway, I want you to kill the man who forced me to slice up that pretty face of yours."

Harleen felt the blood draining from her head. "Dr. Thurmond didn't have anything to do with my face… "

"He didn't?" The Joker questioned in a deep voice; his expression was one of confusion. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't he force you to wear that mask in the first place?"

She could feel her heart begin to pound. "Yes, but..."

He tilted his head slightly as he studied her closely. "Wasn't the mask retaliation because you attacked three guards? Men who tried to rape you, Harley. Dr. Thurmond here allowed you to almost be raped by the scum Arkham employed and then he punished _you_ for it. You're not just a little bit angry?"

Rage, thick and red, clouded Harleen's vision as the memories crowded in on her.

_Hands pulling at her scrubs, pinching her breasts cruelly, grabbing at her crotch; the humiliation of the guards laughter as they began to rip the scrubs right off her body. Filthy names being whispered in her ears as one of them forced his hot, slimy tongue into her mouth._

Harleen took a deep breath, but calm eluded her.

_'Slut, you come back here, girl! I'll kill you just like I killed your whore mother!' Harleen remembered running, slipping on her brothers blood as she ascended the stairs. Pain blossoming from the punch which her attacker had landed to her right cheek. The evil, deep cackling laughter from downstairs was getting closer. 'You think you're going to get away? The only place you're gonna go is the graveyard bitch!' The voice was distorted, but familiar, so sickeningly familiar..._

"Untie him." Harleen was almost panting now. "I can't kill somebody who's tied up."

The Joker arched a brow. "Why not?"

Harleen stared at him. "It isn't fair."

"My lady's wish is my command," The Joker stated as he whipped a stiletto from his pocket. He moved gracefully across the room and in seconds Dr. Thurmond's bonds were on the floor along with his gag. "So how are you going to proceed."

She moved forward stiffly. "I'm going to kill you Doctor, but I don't want to be unfair about it." Harleen tilted her head slightly as she studied him. "So if you make it out the door, I'll have to let you go. I would suggest you run and find a weapon if you can because I don't intend to lose."

Thurmond stood on shaky legs. "Harleen, you're sick, you need help..."

"One." Harleen announced tonelessly.

The Joker smirked.

"You don't have to do this," Thurmond pleaded, his eyes already looking for a weapon.

"Two."

The Joker sat down on his couch and began to clap. "A game! I love games!"

Harleen took a step forward. "Three."

Thurmond fell backward on his skinny ass, but was up in a second flat running for the door.

Harleen stared over at the Joker for a moment.

"Are you just gonna stand there or what?" He groused. _"Boring."_

To his surprise, Harleen smiled broadly at him and winked before strolling after the tripping, panicked Doctor. She passed by the kitchen and noticed a claw hammer and a handful of nails sitting on a counter along with a few blocks of wood.

Stopping, Harleen picked up the hammer and tossed it experimentally from hand to hand; never breaking stride. "Hmm..."

Thurmond had his hand on the warehouse door when a whistle stopped him cold. It wasn't a cat call, although the sound was distinctly playful. Fearfully, he turned to find Harleen inches away from him, a hammer raised above her head.

Those blue eyes that had begged him for mercy the first few years she spent in Arkham had gone deathly cold - the pupils so dilated Harleen's eyes looked almost black. A wide smile stretched her once pretty face into a skeletal mockery of a practiced beauty pageant contestant; so contrived was her expression.

"Aw, Dr. Thurmond, you look worried," she leaned forward a little and giggled; the sound froze the blood in his veins. "You really ought to smile more. Mister J doesn't like a long face and guess what?"

Thurmond swallowed; feeling his life ebbing away. "What?" He could see the Joker sitting quietly on the couch, his black eyes riveted to the show Harleen was putting on.

"Neither do I."

A scream tore from Thurmond's throat as the claw side of the hammer crashed into his skull.

The last thing Thomas Thurmond heard was the sickening crunch of bone, Harleen's high pitched laughter ringing like church bells, and the slap of the Joker's hands as he applauded from his couch.

----------

A/N - Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews and also to all those who have been reading! The next few chapters are going to introduce a little anarchy into Gotham, as well as the Joker's life! Oh, in a PM someone asked if the Joker's relationship with Harley is going to turn abusive. Well, the Nolanverse Joker and the DC comicverse Joker are a little different, as are my Harley and the comicverse Harley. So, in a word, not really. Ledger's Joker was evil, no doubt, but nothing in the Dark Knight or the novel version of the movie makes me think he would be physically abusive or sexually abusive to a woman. That being said, Nolanverse Joker is dark, so is my Harley, so their relationship isn't going to be hearts and flowers. Please read and review! I love hearing your comments.


	8. They

Disclaimer: DC comics owns everything.

----------

Vomit - he hated the smell of puke!

He'd barely managed to pull the limp, still giggling, blood-soaked young woman into his bathroom and maneuver her head over the toilet before she'd become a human geyser. The Joker only wished she was spewing water like Old Faithful - he would have vastly preferred it.

The Joker watched dispassionately, his nose wrinkled, as Harley clutched the toilet and retched violently. "Why are you so upset? You did a good job, kiddo, no need to feel something as senseless as _remorse_ for killing that loser."

After a long while, Harley grew still as her body stopped heaving. She finally turned her face up toward him exposing a blood smeared and tear stained visage which struck a nerve in him. The diamond shaped scar over her eye only added to the unsettling feeling of familiarity. He had the horrible feeling he was looking at a more innocent, female version of himself.

"I'm a murderer."

"So what?" The Joker asked merrily. "I am too and you don't see me getting all weepy about it."

Harley shook her head. "I don't want to be a murderer."

He sighed. "We can't fight our _true_ natures, Harls. Besides, you're very good at it - hell, I was highly entertained and not much tickles _me_."

"I beat a man to death with a hammer." Her pretty face crumpled. "I don't even understand why I did it."

The Joker calmly flushed the toilet, pushed her back, and threw down the toilet lid before sitting on it. "You know exactly why you killed Thurmond, darlin'. Must have made you real angry when those guards tried to have their, uh, _way_ with you. I heard what you did to them - I bet they would be just as dead as the good doctor if reinforcements hadn't arrived to save their sorry asses." Reaching down, he stroked the unscarred side of Harley's face; his fingertips delighting in the softness of her flesh. "I heard you giggle like a little girl at Christmas while you wielded that hammer, don't try to tell me you didn't enjoy killing just a _teensy_ bit."

"No."

He snorted derisively. "Aw, _Christ_! Back to the pathetic denials and one word vocabulary. Stop being so damn boring! If I wanted boring, I'd go back to Arkham and let the brainiacs try to _cure_ me!" He pulled a face before pausing. "Although, I could let Crane have a go at trying to figure me out. Might be interesting to receive psychoanalysis from a certified loon!" Breaking into hysterics, the Joker slapped his leg.

"I'm going to burn in hell." The seriousness in Harley's brilliant eyes brought him plummeting back to earth.

The Joker's lips curled into a slight smile. "No you won't because there isn't any such place, _pookey_. When we die - we're worm food - there isn't anything else. No God, no Savior, no life beyond what you're experiencing through your own senses. I'm going to let you in on a big _secret_," he leaned forward, licking his scars. "there is no rhyme or reason for our existence. At. All. Period."

The expression of horror flickering across her face made him giggle. "_Chaos _and _anarchy_ - now both of those are real. The great thing about chaos is how fair it is; we both have the same chance of being offed by some whacko while we're buying a cup of coffee. Now, _they_ don't want you to see the truth about chaos and the freeing power of anarchy. _They_ want to keep the truth about life a secret." The Joker frowned. "_They_ want you to be a slave."

"Who are _they_?" She asked solemnly.

"Anyone who has power over the masses - lawyers, cops, doctors, priests, government officials, teachers." Hate twisted his features. "They have all these pitiful little rules and they believe the rules they create will save them, but they never see the truth."

Harley had crawled so close to the Joker, he could feel her body heat. "Tell me what the truth is."

"Rules are useless," he stated simply. "The only way to live - to really experience freedom - is to live without all the rules _they_ try to ram down our throats. Be free, Harley, be like me and forget all the foolishness _society_ has crammed between your ears all your life. I'll protect you, I'll _save_ you from them."

To his shock, Harley closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his thigh. "Please don't be angry with me. I'm not like you want me to be, I know it. Don't send me away." Her soft murmur sent the heat of her breath skating across the top of his thigh; burning through the thick fabric of his trousers into his flesh. "I don't want to be alone anymore - I can't be. I-I'd rather die."

He drew in a deep breath to steady himself and released it slowly. Clearly, she had _**no**_ idea what a vulnerable position she was putting herself into. The moment her breath had blistered his skin; a certain part of his anatomy, one which seldom was used for procreation purposes, roared to life with a dull, uncomfortable throb. He stared down at his groin with mounting disgust as his trousers tented in an obvious sign of arousal.

_'Has it been so long? A near skeleton gets you all wound up!'_ The Joker questioned himself, balls aching. _'I need to find a whore before I lose my mind.'_

"Harley, get a grip!" He ordered; his voice taking on a testy tone. "Like I said, you did a good job - so you get to stay." The last thing he needed was to slip and end up banging his new subordinate; despite the incredible temptation to do so.

She opened her eyes and the Joker found himself pinned in place by the startling need in those uncanny blue orbs. "Will you..." Harley's voice drifted off.

"Will I what?" The Joker asked quietly; damning himself as she looked straight at his erection, her eyes going wide. _'She might be innocent, but she knows what you've got stashed in your pants isn't a salami.'_ "Hey," he caught her attention and relaxed when her pink face tilted up to his. "Will I what?"

Harley swallowed. "Will you get me some more Captain Crunch? I'm hungry."

The Joker laughed. "Yeah, I'll get Billy-boy to run out for some. Now, lets clean you up and I'm gonna make you a mean omelet. You're gonna need to have a little variety in your diet, _sugarlips_."

----------

_Three months... three months of nothing..._

Commissioner Jim Gordon stood in front of the expansive windows of Sharon Kennison's office and frowned. "The Joker's left no clues, attempted no further crimes, he's apparently disappeared off the face of the earth."

Sharon Kennison was a lovely brunette in her mid-thirties; she carried herself with supreme confidence and despite her conservative choice of dress and deportment - won the heart of Gotham's working class. No case was too trivial for the new District Attorney to oversee and she kept an eye on all of the Assistant DA's under her. Like Harvey Dent, Kennison always had an eye out for corruption.

"Perhaps he's fled to another city," Sharon stated quietly. "New York is experiencing quite a rash of mysterious bank robberies."

"It's not about the money - the Joker likes sending a message." Jim replied. "Besides, he has Harleen and I don't think he would risk moving her so soon."

"Perhaps not," she agreed. "Have you considered the Joker has probably murdered Miss Quinzel? I can't fathom, nor can FBI profilers, why he would have taken Quinzel in the first place. I don't mean to sound callous or cruel, Jim, but I don't think your goddaughter has survived this long in the Joker's company."

Jim turned toward her. "I know Harleen is still alive, Sharon."

"How?"

"I feel it in my bones." He shrugged. "I can't explain it any better. I would _**know**_ if Harleen had died."

Sharon's expression clouded. "I understand you've pulled Joseph Quinzel's jacket and you tried to pull the evidence from the Quinzel murder case. You wanted me to petition the courts to have all six of the Quinzels exhumed for DNA analysis, but you won't share why." She stood and joined him at the bank of windows overlooking the financial district of Gotham. "You and I have been in a stalemate over this for months. We're friends for crying out loud! I can't go to the courts and request a mass exhumation from an eleven year old case without a better explanation than your hunch Harleen is innocent."

Jim frowned and shook his head. "I don't want my suspicions leaking to the press - they'd have a field day."

"Christ!" Sharon swore angrily. "I'm your friend, Jim! Doesn't that count for anything?! You and I have broken what was left of the mob - can't you trust me at all?"

A muscle jumped in Jim's jaw. "Barbara can never find out. Not unless I know its true."

"What are you talking about?"

Jim Gordon suddenly looked very old and very tired - Sharon felt a pang of pity for the man. He turned his gaze out to the Gotham streets. "I believe Harleen is my daughter."

Sharon gently laid her hand on his shoulder. "Are you certain?"

"Not without a DNA sample, but I'm fairly sure." He sighed. "I think I've always known. I was just hoping it wasn't true." Flashing a tired smile at the DA, Jim continued. "Part of me wanted Harleen to be mine so badly because if she was there was the tiniest crumb of hope Colleen would leave Joe for me."

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't be," he replied curtly. "This was all my own doing - I slept with Colleen and I chose to ignore the time period of Harleen's conception. You see, even though I loved Colleen with ever fiber of my being, I couldn't find it in me to tell Joe what I'd done. How do you betray your best friend and then waltz away with the woman he's loved his entire life? I just waited and hoped Colleen would leave him." Jim's face hardened for a moment before his expression softened. "That never happened - and then I met Barbara."

Sharon waited patiently as the man across from her to collect his thoughts.

"Barbara was everything I could ever hope for and I have a family now. I'm happy."

"But you still believe Harleen is your child?" Sharon prompted.

He nodded. "Harleen looks just like Colleen, but she has my eyes. The corruption in the Gotham Police Department and the District Attorney's office at the time of the murders tied my hands. I was just a lowly detective and I had no power to help her." A bitter laugh escaped his throat. "So the great Commissioner Gordon sat on his ass and watched his own daughter get locked up in the pit of hell because he didn't want to risk losing his job and his family trying to save her." Tears sparkled in his eyes as he regarded the woman across from him. "I'm one heroic sonofabitch, aren't I?"

Sharon swallowed tightly. "Jim, you couldn't have done anything to help Harleen without proof..."

_"Bullshit!"_ Jim thundered. "You know why the Joker didn't choose me over Harvey Dent to torment? Because the Joker has some kind of sixth sense for people and he _knew_ instinctively I wasn't a good man. Now this sicko freak has my daughter! How long before he twists her mind - if he hasn't already - past the point of no return?"

"What are you looking for with the exhumation?"

"DNA evidence from the bodies," he said quietly. "I want to run DNA tests on all of the Quinzels. If we can scrape up some DNA from Harleen's medical records at Arkham, I may be able to prove she didn't kill her family."

"I'll contact Judge Illington tonight."

A soft voice on the intercom interrupted the discussion. "Ms. Kennison, Mr. Wayne is here to see you."

She smiled. "Send him in, Laura."

Jim chuckled. "Bruce Wayne?"

"He's a friend," Sharon insisted while grinning. "We have a benefit to discuss which we are co-hosting."

"Lucky you! City politics are something I can do without."

Bruce Wayne strolled through the now open doors wearing a navy blue Hugo Boss suit with his short dark hair impeccably coiffed. The sunlight showed off his tan to perfection and glistened against his flawless, radiant white teeth. "Sharon, we're due at Milanos in half an hour. We really shouldn't be late or the paparazzi will be all over us." He glanced over at Jim and his smile darkened just a little. "Commissioner Gordon! Good to see you again. How is the search for that Joker fellow going?"

Jim Gordon had to restrain himself from laughing. "Still on the hunt, but I'm sure he'll turn up soon." Shaking Wayne's hand, he nodded to each of them in turn. "Thank you for your help, Sharon. Nice running into you again, Mr. Wayne."

Jim waited until he'd cleared Kennison's outer office before shaking his head in disgust. _'Why do otherwise intelligent women find that Wayne buffoon so charming?'_

----------

Holding herself perfectly still, Harley gritted her teeth as rivulets of sweat soaked her hair.

She didn't refer to herself as Harleen Quinzel anymore - no, Harleen had died right along with Dr. Thurmond. Now she was simply Harley Quinn, just as the Joker saw fit to nickname her. The name suited her and Harley found since she'd killed Thurmond that the niggling memories from the night _Harleen's_ family had been murdered were retreating farther and farther back into the blackest recesses of her mind; the nightmares had faded into barely recognized old movies she didn't care to replay.

Pushing, Harley lifted her leotard clad body straight up from the mat covered floor; toes pointed at the ceiling. She grunted slightly at the burning in her biceps and shoulders as she began to move forward on her hands - moving each one silently while balancing herself precariously.

She'd began walking on her hands when just after her fifth birthday and Harley had never dreamed being away from it for so long would make what had once been easy a trial by fire.

The Joker had bought her the gymnastics equipment she'd desperately wanted; mats, vault, balance beam, pommel horse, uneven bars, parallel bars, and a fine set of rings. One of the warehouses in the Joker's large complex held a gym full of all sorts of equipment for the men - from weights to treadmills to rowing machines and more. He had simply smirked at her request and the next day the empty side of the gym warehouse was chock full of every piece she had asked for.

Allowing herself to sit, Harley pushed back soaked strawberry blonde hair from her face. She drew in a deep breath and reveled in the feel of her flesh filling out; muscle growing and working properly where it had once atrophied from forced disuse.

She had to admit being surprised the first time she'd seen the Joker slip into the gym. He'd washed his face clean of his Joker makeup and was wearing plain gray sweatpants and a simple black tee shirt. Without so much as looking in her direction, he had started working out using the weights. He made no noise, aside from an occasional low grunt when he strained himself, and spent over three hours working out on various machines never once acknowledging her presence.

The only time he visited the gym was very early in the morning - when the small warehouse was either abandoned or only occupied by her.

Harley had discovered the Joker to be both thoughtful and quiet in most of his pursuits, but filled with a raw energy which, if not harnessed or expelled, caused him to display a frightening mania.

_'And when the mania came - so did destruction.'_

A loud clap broke her train of thought.

"Very good, Harley!" The Joker, dressed in his purple and green regalia, leaned against a nearby treadmill as he continued to clap. "You're getting stronger every time I come in here." Lifting one brow, he smiled brightly at her. "How about a little trip?"

She pushed herself to her feet. "Where?"

He looked her up and down with a jaundiced eye. "It's a surprise, but a nice one." Throwing his hands up into the air, he leaned toward her. "Something girly like."

Harley tried not to smile, but failed. "Fine be all mysterious."

The Joker liked it when she smiled and laughed; her sunny outlook drawing a slight, but genuine, grin from himself. "So get your sweet _derriere_ in gear, puddin'. I'm busy, can't spend all day waiting around for you."

She nodded and ran past him; squeaking in shock as his palm landed with a sharp _crack_ across the cheek of her ass. His resounding laughter filled the warehouse and echoed off the walls and filled her mind with the evidence of his all too rare delight.

An hour later, Harley found herself in the middle of a dusty shop filled with bolt after bolt of expensive, no doubt antique, fabrics. The shop itself was located in a squat, nondescript brick building on the edge of the Narrows and the all but abandoned section of the Joker's home territory in the most southern tip of Gotham. There was no sign above the boarded up windows to indicate the building was itself anything but a washed out hull.

The proprietor of the establishment was a wizened old man that topped five feet on his tip toes; he wore a black suit which looked as though it had been made sometime in the 1930s, but the fairly new sheen to the cloth spoke of it being a recent creation. The gentleman was in his mid to late eighties with a thick white mustache, bald head, and a perpetual squint.

"So what can you do for my little _Harley Quinn_?" The Joker lisped as he ran his gloved fingers over a bolt of purple satin.

"Vat vould you like?" The old man asked as he measured her with surprisingly quick precision.

Harley shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not so good with clothes."

"Vis ist obvious, liebling." He sighed. "Vat ist your favorite colors?"

The Joker turned to Harley with the purple satin and raised eyebrows.

She shook her head and the Joker dropped the bolt with a frown. Clearing her throat, Harley spoke quietly. "Black, red, and white are my favorite colors."

The Joker yawned and took a seat in the waiting area. "Make sure her style matches mine, Wolfgang. I don't want her looking like some sort of hooker or BDSM slave."

"Ja! I take care of everything." Wolfgang shooed Harley over to the waiting area. "I vill have one set ready for delivery in three days. How many outfits your girl need?"

"I want her to have at least two weeks worth of clothing." The Joker ran a critical eye over Harley. "Make sure at least three of the outfits are identical and the rest can be different. How soon will you be able to deliver the remaining goods?"

"A veek at most - my vife vill help me."

The Joker stood. "Excellent - full payment upon delivery, Wolfgang."

The old man nodded. "A pleasure as always, Mister Joker. I vill include three new shirts for you at no charge."

"You're too good to me."

"One must appreciate repeat customers."

The Joker snickered. "Isn't that the truth!"

Harley followed him out of the tailor's shop and to the anonymous black SUV the Joker was so fond of using. The three men in the front were silent as the Joker waited until Harley had slid into the vehicle before hopping in and slamming the door behind him.

"Where to boss?"

"Back home, boys. Did Billy make it back from the Yakuza's territory yet?" It was no secret that the Joker was having all rival gangs and criminal organizations monitored; his little jaunt in Arkham had given some other criminals the balls to try and take some of the Joker's hard fought-for territory.

Seeing as how he wanted to keep under the Gotham PD's radar for the time being - he allowed a few minor losses here and there. Still, he monitored all of his enemies with startling precision. It wasn't about the money, Harley had quickly learned, but waking the world up from its mass stupor. The Joker just wasn't ready to send any messages at the moment.

"Yeah," Sanchez mumbled. "Not too happy about what he saw. Said those Japanese mobsters are sneaky bastards."

Harley still couldn't picture Sanchez, the former guard at Arkham, as one of the Joker's henchmen. "Hmm," The Joker relaxed against the back seat, turning his head toward the passing buildings. "Apparently I'll have to flex a little muscle soon. Pity, I was waiting to hear something about the _Bat-man_."

"Why?" Harley asked.

The Joker shot a dark look in her direction. "Well, _snookums_, announcing my return without the Bat-man being present would be, ah, _dull_." He pointed out the window at the rows of crumbling, empty buildings they were flying past. "I'm going to reduce all of Gotham to this and after Gotham - the world. However, I like a little fight, and I'm certainly not going to get a good one from the Gotham Police."

"Commissioner Gordon won't stand for it." Harley pointed out softly.

Screeching laughter escaped the Joker's throat. "Oh Harley!" Gasping for air, he leaned his head against her shoulder. "Gordon is gonna be a little too tied up with you to notice squat!"

The blood drained from Harley's face and she felt ill. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about how my little Harley Quinn is going to start earning her keep like everyone else around here." Grinning, the Joker loomed over her and shoved Harley back into the hard seat. "We're gonna have loads of fun being _naughty_, my little bunny."

"Naughty?" Harley's thoughts returned to the night in the Joker's bathroom, after killing Thurmond, and the sight of him aroused only inches from her lips. The memory made her blush a deep red before turning her face away from his.

Harley hadn't ever had a boyfriend in school, too many activities to juggle. Swimming and gymnastics - among others. She hadn't even kissed a boy before that disgusting guard in Arkham had shoved his tongue down her throat...

She was becoming more and more aware now that she wasn't a girl anymore. Harley's body, now well nourished and exercised, was that of a twenty-seven year old woman and the woman's body was beginning to have urges that set her nerves on edge. Harley had dreams at night of committing _acts_ and being touched in a way which had her waking up in a cold sweat more than once.

He hadn't attempted to touch her in an inappropriate manner, or even make crude suggestions, in the three months they had shared a bedroom. In fact, he'd moved a cot into the room and against a far wall where he slept every night. She _almost_ wanted him to try something - just so she could get the thought of it out of her mind. Instead, he was the consummate gentleman.

Occasionally, his dark eyes lingered on her a fraction of a second too long. From time to time, the Joker would find some excuse to touch her hand, but for the most part he seemed to have no interest in her at all other than a cohort in training.

A part of her found his lack of desire profoundly distressing - the other part of Harley was disgusted by the fact she _wanted_ him. The Joker was a criminal mastermind, a man who could kill at the drop of a hat. Yet, she still felt a thrill of yearning when she was in his presence.

Harley stared up at him boldly.

"Very naughty," The Joker muttered against her ear. She shuddered as his warm breath burned against her delicate flesh. "Now _relax_, Harls."

Harley could hardly relax while she felt like her body was on fire, but she managed a fine imitation for his benefit.

----------

"So, will I be sharing you all night with your mobile?" Bruce Wayne inquired.

Sharon felt her face begin to burn as she shoved her cell into the small clutch she'd brought along. "Sorry, I've been trying to get a hold of Judge Illington."

Bruce nodded. "Any particular reason? Something juicy perhaps?"

She laughed and savored the sight of Bruce's lips bowing upward; he didn't smile or laugh the way he had before Rachel and Harvey both died. She'd known Wayne a few years, through Rachel Dawes, and he still retained the same suave charm, but now there was something dark just behind his eyes.

Sharon wasn't entirely sure she ever wanted to see past her friend's charming exterior - a small part of her was frightened by the thought of what she might find.

"Hardly," she shrugged lightly. "I'd love to confide in you - I could use the support - but the matter is police business after all."

Bruce didn't say anything; he simply smiled and slowly drained his wine glass. "I see. Well, Judge Illington isn't available by phone because he's three tables over your right shoulder." He chuckled. "Looks like he's having dinner with his wife."

Sharon turned and her smile faded. "Oh, uh, Bruce, that isn't Judge Illington's wife."

He arched one brow as he studied the pair. "You don't say... oops."

Sharon sighed and stood. "I'll be right back and then you'll have my undivided attention."

Bruce nodded. "Of course."

Sharon eased her way to Judge Edward Illington's table and smiled down at the older man she'd clerked for just out of law school. He was old enough to be her grandfather - perhaps that was why seeing him holding hands with his receptionist, who was young enough to be his child, was so repugnant to her.

"Edward? Imagine seeing you here." _Milanos_ was one of the few five star establishments in Gotham which Bruce Wayne hadn't yet purchased; reservations were booked three months in advance, unless you were famous or Bruce Wayne.

Judge Illington's face turned a very unflattering shade of umber. "Sharon! I didn't expect to see you tonight. How... delightful." His tone of voice clearly indicated the surprise was certainly _not_ a delight.

Sharon forced herself to keep right on smiling. "Tell me, Edward, would you be willing to sign an exhumation order on six graves? I need the exhumation to start tomorrow morning."

Illington sighed. "Just who would we be exhuming en masse?"

"The Quinzel family."

The older man's eyes nearly popped from their orbital sockets. "You want me to exhume six murder victims eleven years after the crime has been solved?! Do you have permission from a family member? What is the purpose behind the exhumation?"

Sharon cleared her throat. "I can't divulge the details in public, as you're aware, but I promise you there is a valid reason. As for permission, we have permission from a family member's legal guardian."

"Gordon." Illington spat the word out like an epithet.

"Please." Sharon's voice was soft and filled with need.

Shaking his head, Illington sighed. "Gwen, darling, would you mind calling the office and requesting an exhumation order be delivered to Ms. Kennison's office tonight."

The dishwater blonde nodded and began dialing; her voice low and urgent.

"I take it no mention will be made to my wife regarding my little outing with Gwen."

Sharon shook her head and tapped the older man on the shoulder. "I wouldn't have mentioned anything to Louise even if you denied my petition."

Illington rolled his eyes and gave her a firm wave goodbye.

She picked her way back to her table and smiled at Bruce. "Mission accomplished. Now where were we?"

Bruce was busy thumbing through his emails on his blackberry. "I believe I was trying to pawn off the annual Gotham Autumn Charity Ball on you." He opened his suit and dropped the blackberry into an interior pocket. "You were probably getting ready to tell me to go to hell."

"No," Sharon shook her head. "I was getting ready to tell you that you're devious."

He grinned. "I like devious, I think it suits me."

Sharon's mobile rang.

Smiling, she threw her trilling clutch onto her lap. "I'm not much for planning balls."

"Aren't you going to answer that?" Bruce asked with a caustic grin.

She shook her head. "I don't think so. I promised you no work related interruptions tonight and look what happens."

He chuckled. "If its any consolation, this is my bad karma coming back around and biting me on the ass."

"I can't believe you would have bad karma."

"I do, trust me."

The mobile continued to ring.

"Answer it," Bruce waved wearily toward her lap. "I'm begging you - before we get tossed out on our ears. There are only so many restaurants I can buy before the Gotham food critics start screaming monopoly."

Sharon felt her face burn, but dug her mobile out. "Hello?"

Her assistant began spilling all the details of Judge Illington's newly arrived exhumation order into Sharon's ear with surgical precision.

"Contact Jim Gordon and get him out to Holy Angels cemetery. Also, we'll need to contact the medical examiners office and tell them we'll need enough equipment and crew to remove all six bodies. I think it would be best to get this over with tonight if possible. Thank you." She smiled briefly at Bruce before chewing at her lower lip. "I have to go."

"Duty calls." He offered with a strange gleam in his eye.

"Something like that." Sharon murmured. "Sorry."

Bruce Wayne stood and buttoned his jacket. "Don't be sorry. I understand where you're coming from better than you might think. Let me give you a ride to your office."

She released a pent up breath. "Thanks, Bruce."

"I suppose this means I'm planning the Autumn Charity Ball... alone."

"I'm afraid so."

Bruce flashed a brilliant, genuinely amused smile in her direction. "I guess I'm not as devious as I'd like to believe."

Sharon laughed as they strolled out. "You better work on that."

"Oh, I will."

----------

-A/N- Thank you for reading and reviewing as well as putting this story on your favorites list and story alert list. Please read and review - let me know what you think, it really does inspire me and brighten my day! I should have another chapter for you the middle of this week, albeit a shorter one.


	9. Revelations

Disclaimer: Batman and all related characters belong to DC Comics. The Little Mermaid belongs to Disney.

----------

The Joker maintained an office separate from the communal living quarters in the abandoned warehouse complex he'd taken over some six years earlier. The building was smaller than the rest and had been lovingly rescued from the rusting mess it had been. Now the interior was passable as that of any simple businessman - paneled walls with framed newspaper articles detailing the Joker's various crimes decorated the wall behind his desk. He had simple, but functional furnishings meant for work purposes; desk, filing cabinets, and a bank of high tech computers which held the capability to hack into any system the Joker had a mind to peek into.

Three LCD screens were mounted above the door and wired to surveillance equipment which should have been only available to government operatives - one screen displayed the gym, one screen the main living quarters, and the third screen monitored the Joker's private bedroom where Harley was currently napping.

Only a few weeks earlier the Joker had caught one of his computer programmers peeping on a half dressed Harley...

Billy winced at the memory of the man's dying screams.

"So, Billy-boy, what's the story with Mr. Yamamoto and his ilk?"

William Napier was a veteran of the war in Afghanistan - he'd survived bombings and firefights with his buddies in Special Forces as they'd faced down the Taliban and Al-Qaeda. He had been stabbed, shot, clubbed, and nearly burned to death, but William had never felt any real fear. He'd faced terrorists, drug cartel kingpins, and half-crazed, sadistic, psycho murderers - all while following orders his superiors had issued - yet he always had a sinking sense of dread in his gut whenever he faced the Joker.

Just the sight of those gruesome, twisted scars licking up the sides of the Joker's face - turning the man's expression into a pained, insane smirk - terrified Billy beyond comprehension. Half-forgotten memories of how Jack Napier had acquired that sickening, leering grin of his seeped out of Billy's deep subconscious; where he preferred they remained buried.

Billy was Jack's younger brother, his only sibling, and every day Billy wished the connection didn't exist.

The relationship _**did**_ exist, twisted and tangled as it was, and there was nothing Billy could do to alter the fact. Billy tried not to think about how much he owed his older brother - if not for Jack Napier's actions so long ago, Billy had no doubt he'd be just like the Joker...

Which was exactly why Billy had left the armed forces at Jack's request and served as his older brother's eyes and ears around Gotham; the simple truth of the matter was the Joker's damaged face didn't make it easy for him to go incognito. Billy, on the other hand, could go places and deal with people in ways the Joker never could. Whether it be something as simple as shopping for groceries or as complex as dealing with corrupt cops on the Joker's payroll - Billy did it all.

Shaking his head, Billy allowed his eyes to settle on the Joker's familiar, expectant gaze. "The Yakuza seem to believe you've grown soft since you got pinched by the Batman. Yamamoto wasn't around, but one of his lieutenants hinted the Yakuza have merely been hired to clear the way for someone else."

Smirking, the Joker relaxed in his chair. "_Hmm..._" he grunted slightly. "That so? I wonder _who_? I suppose your little friend didn't happen to mention any names?"

Billy let out a humorless laugh. "Ah - no."

"Couldn't ever be that easy," The Joker shot out of his chair and began to pace up and down the length of his office. "I have a list of suspects as long as my damn arm. Can't bug every criminal in Gotham - as much as I'd like too. So..." he frowned before a sly grin stole across his face. "there's really only one thing to do."

"What boss?" Billy treated his older brother with deference a commanding officer would receive and _**never**_ let on about their true relationship. He was well aware it would put the both of them in danger and the Joker had always been explicit about what such a revelation would mean to Billy. He unconsciously rubbed his undamaged face.

"Make an example of Yamamoto and his Yakuza gang."

"When?"

"I'll start making arrangements for tomorrow. I want to catch the little bastard off guard." The Joker smacked his lips as his eyes roamed around the office before settling on Billy again. "Have you heard anything more about Gordon's attempt to find Harley?"

Billy shrugged. "My informant tells me Gordon and Kennison just dug up the entire Quinzel plot out at Holy Angels cemetery a few hours ago."

Chuckling, the Joker shook his head. "And all the Commissioner's medical examiners and all the Commissioner's men couldn't put poor little _Harley Quinn_ back together again." A dark frown crossed his face. "The simpleton can't see the truth staring him in the face so how is he going to put up a fuss against _me_?"

Billy knew the Joker was spewing out another of his rhetorical questions and remained silent.

The Joker waived a hand in Billy's direction. "Go on, get the hell out of here and get some sleep. Tomorrow you and I are going to have a little _fun_, Billy-boy."

William Napier, the good soldier he was, nodded and did as he was told.

----------

"The Joker is not someone you will win against, Mr. Thorne."

Rupert Thorne folded his newspaper and set it down on the table beside him. "I'm quite aware that the _Agent of Chaos_ is not someone to be taken lightly, Mr. Yamamoto." Thorne glanced around the opulent garden room his mansion boasted and smiled. "You see, this _Joker_ character, has stolen from me - _**from me! **_I cannot tolerate this show of disrespect or I won't be able to continue as a... businessman."

Akira Yamamoto kept his expression emotionless; this he had learned long ago at his father's knee in Kobe. Often, Jiro Yamamoto had allowed his only son to sit in on important Yakuza business meetings as Akira grew. The experience was not always - pleasant - yet Akira had taken away many important lessons not just on power, but human nature.

Akira found it was the invaluable education on human nature which had benefited him most over the years.

"If the Joker kills you and spreads your innards from one end of Gotham to the other, you will no longer be in business either." Akira didn't often contradict his clientele, but first hand reports were trickling in on the Joker and his crew. Intelligence regarding the escaped criminal mastermind was not encouraging. "Mr. Nakamura has had contact with one of the Joker's more senior men. I must, in good conscience, try to dissuade you from pursuing your current course of action."

Saru Nakamura was one of the long dead Jiro Yamamoto's most trusted lieutenants, and closest friend, he was not a man who frightened easily. Nakamura's words echoed in Akira's ears, _'The Joker's man is honorable. He is also quite mad - I saw no fear in his eyes even when I threatened to cut out his tongue. Mr. Napier is a warrior - yet there was dread in his eyes when he spoke of his superior. This Joker is no one to be trifled with, Akira-sama.'_

Clearly, Rupert Thorne was not a man who had often been told no over the years. He possessed a paunch which spoke of too much rich food and drink; broken capillaries over the American's broad nose only further indicated the man's fondness for alcohol. There was a genteel aura in his fine clothes and well groomed facade, but his cold eyes belied him as a gentleman. Thorne was legendary in Gotham, not only for his incredible wealth, as a man who could influence policy in the city, but also throughout the United States and the world. Thorne had started in his youth working in the import trade and before thirty had several import/export businesses with offices all over Asia - including Kobe, Japan. He was elected to the United States Senate and had spent several years as a ranking member of the Foreign Intelligence Committee.

Once it became clear Thorne's business - illicit for the most part but so well buried beneath legitimate fronts no one could ferret out the illegal activity - was threatened by former allies in Gotham, Thorne had retired from the public arena. He took his bleach blonde, ridiculously stupid, and much younger wife and left Washington DC altogether. Thorne traveled extensively with her as a cover; all the while wreaking vengeance and havoc on those who had thought to defraud him in his absence.

Akira Yamamoto had met the man as a young boy when his father Jiro - the most feared and respected Yakuza leader in Japan - had partnered with Thorne. Jiro's death, from natural causes, had left a power vacuum which Akira had sealed.

Impressed with the young Yakuza's cunning and skill, Thorne had offered him a very profitable partnership.

The authorities in Japan were beginning a severe crackdown on the Yakuza, so Thorne's offer had been gratefully accepted.

Leaning forward, the old man's steely gaze pierced Akira's patient expression. "Are you afraid, boy?"

Smiling, Akira shook his head. "No, I am not. Death comes to all creatures eventually - it is folly to believe otherwise. However, to throw one's life away foolishly is not honorable, Thorne-san." He shrugged delicately. "I merely seek to warn you of the danger you face."

Rupert Thorne frowned. "Did you know the Maroni's, the Falcones, and the Rossi's all worked for me? Even Gambol - before that freak killed him! My fingers have been in every criminal enterprise in Gotham for over forty years, Mr. Yamamoto. Then this _**Joker**_ shows up out of nowhere and the little _fucker_ starts stealing from mob banks - from me! He helped to ruin everything I spent my life working for - he disrespects me! Now what do you think should be done?"

"He must be dealt with most severely. I do not contest your will on this subject."

"You have reservations?" Thorne questioned as he picked up a fine Cuban cigar.

Akira nodded elegantly. "Yes, I believe to call him out, so to speak, is a mistake. A man like the Joker must be handled in a more _delicate_ manner."

"How so?"

"I believe there are other ways to destroy a perceived threat rather than falling back on brute force. I have studied this _Joker_ closely and I believe he is only a few steps from complete madness." Akira's eyes glowed with excitement. "He enjoys chaos and thrives on anarchy, Thorne-san, so I propose we allow him to take on Gotham and the authorities for the time being."

Rupert Thorne gave a brief nod of encouragement.

Akira finished his tea before continuing. "He must not learn about you or your distaste for him. Once the Joker is fully engaged with the Gotham authorities we strike him where it hurts. Only then will this man fully appreciate the unpleasant consequences to his actions."

"How will we know where to wound him?" Thorne sounded intrigued. "I want this little punk to bleed and beg before the end."

"Every man - no matter how insane or evil - loves something or someone." Akira smiled serenely. "We simply discover what this _Joker_ cares for most and destroy it. I have already taken the liberty of inserting an agent into the Joker's organization; it will take time to get results."

Thorne raised his eyebrows. "Is it Napier?"

"No," Akira shook his head. "Mr. Nakamura feels Napier will remain loyal to the Joker until the bitter end. I placed someone inside a few months ago - the agent will remain safely anonymous until the operation concludes."

"You've moved in on the Joker's territory. He'll come after you and hit you hard, Mr. Yamamoto."

"Indeed, I would be disappointed if he did nothing. As in any military action, casualties must be calculated and expected."

"How very cold of you, Mr. Yamamoto. You'll lose a lot of men."

Akira Yamamoto remained expressionless. "The Yakuza are good soldiers and they expect to die as warriors when their time comes. The death of noble warriors will be revisited on the Joker a thousand fold when I finally have him. I will take what he treasures most and I will tear it apart in front of his very eyes when he is helpless to stop me - a wonderful retribution for the death of my men."

"Remind me not to make you angry, Mr. Yamamoto."

----------

The night had been long and tiring for James Gordon and Sharon Kennison.

The exhumation at Holy Angels cemetery had brought up all the Quinzels: Joe, Colleen, Andrew, Patrick, Sabrina, and John; who had been stillborn at his birth some three years before Sabrina had come into the world.

Jim had watched the caskets being removed with the same grim expression as when he had watched them being lowered into the ground years earlier.

Staring at Sharon seated across his desk from him, he sighed. "How much longer?"

"I have no clue," Sharon replied. "DNA is tricky - we've put a rush on it as is."

A knock on the door brought Jim out of his tired stupor. "Come in."

Detective Jill Sampson entered the room carrying a sealed manila envelope and placed it squarely in front of the Commissioner. "Here are the preliminary results, Commissioner. The crime lab is stressing that the results need to be examined again to be sure of accuracy."

"I understand. Thanks, Sampson."

The woman smiled as she shut the door behind her.

Sharon nodded toward the envelope. "Do you want the honors?"

"Funny enough, not really." Jim replied as he handed the envelope to the District Attorney.

She opened it quickly and read the enclosed papers with a slight frown.

"What is it?" He asked as a numbing cold settled in the pit of his stomach.

Sharon looked at him; ashen-faced. "The children all share mitochondrial DNA traits, but the routine paternity test the lab ran indicate not one of those children belonged to Joe Quinzel."

"That's not possible!" Jim blurted in shock. "What about Harleen?"

Sharon handed him the paternity test. "Prelims indicate you were right - Harleen is your daughter."

He stared at the papers which proved his folly beyond a shadow of a doubt. Taking off his glasses, he rubbed his eyes tiredly before staring at Harleen's paternity test with unseeing eyes. Numb and sick, Jim's memory was thrown back...

_... "You're certain this isn't an imposition?"_

_Jim grinned at his partner and shook his head. "Not at all, Joe. I like kids - can't wait to have some of my own."_

_Joe Quinzel laughed. "You say that now, but you wait until you're married with three children and two of them have the flu." He slapped Jim on the shoulder. "Thanks for watching Harleen for us. The last time she caught cold we ended up bringing her to the emergency room with pneumonia."_

_Jim looked over his shoulder at the little girl curled up in the corner of his couch watching a cartoon. "I really don't mind. Tell Colleen that we'll have lots of fun together and not to worry - just concentrate on the boys."_

_"Be good and listen to Uncle Jim! Understand, Harleen?"_

_Harleen knelt and peered over the edge of the couch at her father. "Yes, daddy. I'll be good, I promise."_

_Joe winked and waved at Harleen before leaning close to Jim. "She's a great kid for the most part, but she's got a sweet tooth a mile wide. If you don't watch yourself, you'll both be eating Twinkies and Captain Crunch all freaking weekend."_

_"I take it you're speaking from experience?" Jim asked with a chuckle._

_Joe rolled his eyes as he disappeared out the door._

_Throwing the locks into place, Jim went into his bedroom and deposited Harleen's overnight bag on his bed. Spending some time getting her unpacked, he noted with a slight smile that all of Harleen's clothing smelled like baby powder. The scent caught him off guard and a lump formed in his throat._

_Finishing up, Jim stuck his head into his tiny living room and smiled._

_Harleen was still curled up in the same corner of the couch; her eyes riveted to the television. Wisps of strawberry blonde hair tucked behind her ears, she had her chin resting on her knees. At eight, she was the most innocent creature Jim had ever known and he delighted in spoiling her rotten._

_"What'cha watching?" Jim hadn't paid much attention when he'd inserted her tape into his VCR._

_She glanced in his direction and smiled - revealing her missing upper front teeth - before putting a hand shyly over her mouth. "The Little Mermaid."_

_Jim leaned against the open doorway. "Is that a Disney cartoon?"_

_Harleen's blue eyes widened in disbelief. "It's the best movie in the whole world!"_

_"Well," he smiled at her as he made his way to the couch. "I can't miss the best movie in the world!"_

_"Nuh-uh!" Harleen patted the cushion beside her._

_He sat and glanced down at her; the fact she looked like a miniature version of Colleen hadn't escaped him. Jim turned his attention to the TV and grinned at the little red-haired mermaid and talking fish. "She looks like you."_

_Harleen flashed her gap-tooth grin at him. "Oooh! This part is good! Wanna sing?"_

_Jim stared in shock at her. "Sing?"_

_She knelt beside him and clutched his jaw in her small hands. "Yeah," she moved his jiggled his jaw. "like this!" Harleen took a deep breath and began to warble. "I don't know when, I don't know how, but I know something starting right now. Watch and you'll see, someday I'll be, part of your world." Considering the significant whistle her missing teeth created, Jim thought she had a very sweet little voice._

_Harleen stared at him. "Hey, you didn't sing!"_

_"I was too enchanted by you, sorry about that." He couldn't help the wide grin spreading across his face._

_Her eyebrows were arched and her expression wavered between disbelief and suspicion. Leaning close to him, Harleen let her forefinger rest against his cheekbone just below his left eye. "Are you my real uncle?"_

_Jim frowned at the quick change in conversation. "Yes. Why do you ask?"_

_"We have the same eyes." Harleen was peering intently at him. "Same color and everything. Mommy and Daddy don't have my color eyes."_

_It was true; Colleen's eyes were a clear gray and Joe's a deep hazel._

_Something niggled at the back of Jim's brain; a thought so unsettling he pushed it away. "It's a coincidence."_

_"What?"_

_"It's just pure luck we have the same color eyes, Harleen. Lots of people have blue eyes."_

_"Oh." The air seemed to have been sucked from Harleen's body and she lowered herself until she was sitting properly again. "I wish you were my daddy."_

_Jim was startled. "Why? Don't you love your father?"_

_"Yes."_

_"But..."_

_Harleen looked shyly up at him. "But you're more fun."_

_"And I give you Twinkies when no one is looking." He concluded with a grin._

_She smiled at him. "Uh-huh!"_

_Jim found himself laughing as he handed her a Twinkie he'd grabbed from the kitchen on his way out. "Make sure you don't tell your parents or we'll both be in hot water."_

_Harleen squealed with delight and shoved herself against his side. "Thank you! I love you, Uncle Jim."_

_He ruffled her hair affectionately. The scent of baby powder wafting up his nose..._

.... "Oh god," Jim moaned in despair. "What did I do? I have to get her back."

Sharon laid her hand over his; compassion spilling over in her eyes. "We'll find her, Jim."

"I have to tell Barbara." Jim shook his head tiredly. "Then we'll have to tell James and Bibi."

"Everything will be fine."

Jim shoved his glasses back on his face; his expression uncharacteristically hard. "I doubt it, Sharon. Somewhere out in the cold, in the grime and the filth of Gotham - my daughter is being held by a maniac. Harleen is a captive of the Joker and if I don't find her soon she's never going to recover." He stood and made his way to the door. "I'm sorry, I have to go. Thank you for all your help."

Sharon stood. "Jim?"

He turned.

"Who do you think killed the Quinzels?"

"Not Harleen." His words were harsh and a hint of finality rang through them. "Maybe Joe lost his mind if he discovered Colleen was going out and getting pregnant by other men."

She picked up the DNA report. "Do you really believe that?"

"I don't know what the hell to believe anymore." Jim sighed. "I never would have thought Joe capable of... I just don't know."

Sharon watched him walk out the door and turned her attention to the report in her hands. "Let's find out what's going on here."

----------

The dawn had seeped over the horizon cold and gray - much like Gotham itself.

Hoshi Mori emerged from Akira Yamamoto's office carrying a briefcase filled with illegal documents; the paperwork stuffed inside passports and green cards to be used in smuggling young western women into Japan for forced prostitution.

The Yakuza profited greatly from the sex trade.

Mr. Yamamoto and Mr. Nakamura both had accepted Mr. Thorne's kind offer of the use of his country estate for the weekend.

Hoshi was in charge of the Yakuza until the return of his superiors. At the tender age of twenty-three, such responsibility was a heavy burden, but one he bore cheerfully. If he did well in his masters absence, Hoshi knew he could expect great things to come.

Looking up from the briefcase, he expected to find Kenji, one of the guards, but instead three strangers occupied the space beside the door. One, he recognized as William Napier, the second man was taller with greasy black hair and a dead stare.

The third man was absolutely horrifying.

He was tall with slicked back, wavy, lime green hair and a face like something from a nightmare; chalk white, with blackened circles around each eye which only emphasized the coldness of his gaze, and scarlet paint crossing his mouth and into the ghastly scars running up each cheek.

Kenji lay in the floor in a pool of his own blood.

Hoshi had heard of the Joker - seen news reports - but he had never thought to see the monster in person.

The Joker looked down at the dead body sprawled at his feet and raised one brow as he stepped over it casually. "_Good morning_," he began brightly; despite the gruffness of his voice. "This is your _official_ Gotham welcoming committee! Now, ah..." He gestured to Hoshi.

"Hoshi Mori."

"Mr. Mori," The Joker continued pleasantly. "Where is Mr. Yamamoto?"

"Out of town." Hoshi would _never_ tell this American swine anything about his superior's whereabouts.

"You wouldn't be interested in telling me where he went would you?" The Joker asked with a smile which froze Hoshi's blood.

"No."

The Joker's smile slowly died. "No? Well that isn't very neighborly is it boys?"

"No, sir."

"Not nice at all, boss."

Hoshi said nothing; his gaze becoming blank.

The Joker tilted his head as he studied the younger man. "You're going to be a tough nut to crack. I can tell these sorts of things," he whispered conspiratorially. "Let it not be said I don't enjoy a challenge. Billy, burn this place to the ground and anyone in it. Lawton, bind up Mr. Mori nice and tight, he'll be enjoying my _hospitality_ this evening."

The Joker took the briefcase from Hoshi and smacked his lips as he popped it open. Rifling through, he shook his head with mock outrage. "Forced prostitution! _Shame_ on you boys! And you Japanese like to call us Americans pigs. A bit like the pot calling the kettle black, eh?" Leaving it open, he pulled a lighter out of his pocket and lit the papers inside.

Soon orange flames were leaping and crackling as the fire consumed six months of hard work on the part of Mr. Yamamoto.

"Mr. Yamamoto will make you pay for this." Hoshi warned in a low voice as the man called Lawton finished duct-taping his hands together.

The Joker laughed; the sound bone-chilling to all present in the room. "He's welcome to try! Yamamoto wouldn't be the first to hold a grudge." He sneered at the young man and leaned closer, pulling his switchblade from inside his purple jacket. "Say, wanna know how I got these scars?"

Hoshi said nothing.

----------

Weary to the bone, the Joker finished scrubbing his hands until the skin was bright red with bloody cracks opening around his knuckles. He sniffed and frowned as the stench of blood raced from his nostrils down to coat his tongue. He turned from the sink to regard the completely disemboweled man hanging limply from the chair in the center of his work room.

He'd bolted the chair down to the floor years earlier when a particularly strong Mafioso actually wrestled himself, chair and all, into a standing position. The jerk had run around the room bouncing off the walls in order to smash free from the chair - and the Joker had found himself in the ridiculous position of hacking the moron apart piece by piece while trying to avoid being stampeded.

The Joker smirked at the memory.

"Well Hoshi, it was nice meeting you, but I'm a bit tired so I must bid you _adieu_."

The Joker flipped off the digital recorder mounted on the wall to the right of the door before easing himself out. Billy was leaning against the kitchen counter reading the _Gotham Times_ with a frown that practically begged him to screw with the poor guy's mind.

Sliding the door shut, the Joker made his way across the room as quietly as possible.

"Yeah, boss?"

The Joker stopped to tickle Boris, one of his three rottweilers, under the chin. "Where's Ivan?"

"Pavel decided to take him out for a little walk before he crapped on the floor."

"What about Vadim?" The Joker had noticed recently wherever Harley went Vadim had begun to follow.

Billy folded his newspaper and placed it in a tidy pile on the counter. "I think Harley has him in the bedroom with her. So what can I really do for you?"

The Joker's eyes narrowed. "How about getting my little tape of Hoshi to his boss - I wouldn't want Yamamoto getting all _worried_ about his missing subordinate."

"Yeah, I'm sure he's worried about that punk when we left forty bodies behind _and_ burned his office to the ground." Billy raised one eyebrow. "You're bored, aren't you?"

The Joker could feel his blood rising. "I'm _not_ bored." He pointed at the younger man with irritation. "Stop being such a wise ass or I'll..."

"Gut me, I know." Billy kept an innocent expression on his face as he passed the Joker. "You never did call that whore - what was her name?"

"Yvette." The Joker supplied with a grimace. "I found I didn't really need her... services."

"Harley's kinda pretty." Billy supplied cheerfully.

The Joker frowned. "Just for that - you can clean up the mess, Billy-boy."

"Gladly."

"No one likes a wise ass," The Joker breathed as he watched Billy disappear into his work room. Shaking his head, he continued into his bedroom. Shutting the door and throwing all the dead bolts, he relaxed a little as he began to unbutton his shirt.

The low light revealed Harley snuggled up to the very relaxed Vadim on the bed. She had one arm thrown around the pooch's neck and the comforter pulled up around her waist. Vadim, for his part, had one eye wide open and pointed directly at the Joker.

"Vadim, my boy, are you being good?"

The rottweiler wagged his stumpy tail with excitement.

Chuckling, the Joker stripped off his shirt and threw it into the laundry basket in the bathroom. He scrubbed the make-up off his face before heading back into the bedroom. He noticed that Vadim had abandoned Harley for his cot across the room and the Joker smirked as he stripped off his suspenders and belt.

"Where am I supposed to sleep?" The Joker groused.

A yawn escaped his throat and he smacked his lips as he approached his former bed. _'It's plenty big enough for six - Harley won't even notice.'_ The Joker stretched, joints cracking, before he lowered himself gingerly to the opposite side of the bed; as far from Harley as possible.

The feel of the sheets and the softness of the mattress were like heaven to him.

The Joker closed his eyes...

"What are you doing here?" Harley's voice was rough with sleep.

"Trying to get some shut eye," he replied, his tone grouchy. "Vadim stole my bed. Now shut up."

Harley was only quiet for a moment. "You still have your shoes on."

Opening his eyes, the Joker forced himself to sit. He pulled off one shoe, then the other, and used both as missiles which he sent sailing against the door. Throwing himself back against the bed roughly, he counted to ten as he let his eyes drift shut...

"Don't you have pajamas?"

He groaned and slapped his hands over his eyes. _"What?"_

"You aren't wearing a shirt."

"Thank you for pointing out the obvious, _Sherlock_." He hissed. "I didn't realize there was a dress code in _my own bed!"_ The Joker rubbed his scars, frowning at the lined, hard texture of the skin. "Now, can I get some damn sleep?"

He looked over to find Harley staring at him with wide eyes. "You're going to stay on your own side... right?"

"Yes."

To his relief, Harley remained quiet.

----------

The Joker always knew when it was 5am. He had a gift of sorts for being able to awaken naturally an hour or so before the sun rose. The feel of warm blankets tucked in around him made the Joker sigh with appreciation once more for not being relegated to one of the vermin infested trash heaps many homeless were forced to occupy on cold Gotham nights.

Groaning, he flexed a hand and frowned.

Something extremely warm and incredibly soft filled his left palm.

Forcing one eye open, he glanced down. "Shit."

Normally, he didn't swear, but the Joker wasn't in a normal situation. He was curled around a still slumbering Harley with one hand cupping her breast tenderly. What made the circumstance all the more bizarre was the fact he had no desire to move.

Her soft backside was arched into his groin and her back was sealed to his chest creating the most _delicious_ body heat he'd ever experienced. Sure, he'd had prostitutes, but not one had ever allowed themselves to be touched by him like this.

_Not. One. Woman. Ever._

The Joker was warm and pleased by the feel of Harley's body against his own. Breathing in the sweet scent of her hair, he had a revelation.

_'She's mine - all mine. I'll kill anyone who lays a finger on my Harley Quinn.'_

----------

-A/N- Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please read and review and let me know what you thought! More Harley/ Joker interaction coming in the following chapters. Also, I will be moving this story to a Mature rating due to upcoming violence and possible adult situations.　


	10. Courting?

Disclaimer: DC Comics owns everything!

-A/N- Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! Sorry this is such a short chapter. I received a PM from a reader who stated she felt Harley was developing feelings for the Joker too fast and it wasn't normal. I just wanted to take a minute and state firmly that Harley isn't normal, she has mental issues which I hope becomes more clear after this chapter. I hope you all enjoy this peek into the Joker and Harley's relationship. Please read and review!

----------

The clothing had arrived the night Wolfgang the Tailor had assured the Joker it would.

Harley had just executed a series of flawless back flips across the mat in the gym when she was interrupted by a crude whistle. Shocked, Harley spun around so quickly she nearly landed on her rear end.

The Joker was at the opposite end of the mat with his hands behind his back and a strange look on his face. His expression was that of a person looking over a fine piece of jewelry - appraising. She wasn't sure she cared for him looking at her in such a manner.

"Good news, _Harleykins_, the first part of your trousseau has, uh, arrived." He waggled his brows at her. "Wanna come see?"

She nodded and slipped her feet into her sneakers before following him out into the chill of the Gotham evening. Sunset had just passed and the sky was a deep charcoal gray; a few streaks of dark scarlet and purple still staining the very edge of the horizon. "It's going to rain."

He turned toward her wearing a slight frown. "Huh?"

Harley had seen this expression most often when he was interrupted while deep in thought.

A smile broke over her lips. "I said it's going to rain tonight."

Smacking his lips, he cast his blackened eyes toward the sky and nodded absently. "Yeah, looks like you're right."

She had a growing sense the longer she spent time in the Joker's presence of when to shut up - and now was one of those life preserving times. Only a few days earlier one of the newer men kept pestering the Joker with question after question about truly ridiculous, petty situations around the compound. At first, Billy had tried to shut the guy up, but Billy finally let the guy go with a _'Oh what the hell! Don't say I didn't warn you'_ shrug.

At first the Joker, seated on the couch staring at the news, seemed to be ignoring the fool.

Then in a surprise move so fast Harley nearly missed it, the Joker stirred. There was a strange little gurgle from the offending party across the room as he began to list back and forth like a ship without a mooring. She had stared in revulsion at the stiletto knife protruding from the dying man's right eye. The minute the man hit the floor, Billy let out a particularly vicious string of curses; vividly expressing his disgust at having to get rid of so many corpses, before dragging the dead man's body away.

The Joker's prowess with a blade was not to be underestimated.

They passed a few guards on the way to the communal living quarters, but most were inside either milling around in the kitchen or upstairs playing poker in the loft; where their sleeping and living quarters were. Billy was seated on the couch looking at something on his laptop which had obviously pissed him off based on the expression he was wearing.

The Joker ignored the others and headed straight for his bedroom.

Harley gasped as she stared at the red, white, and black outfit laid carefully across the bedspread. The clothing was a work of art - the cloth itself of the best quality and finely hand stitched. She had never seen anything like it...

"Yeah, impressive isn't it?" The Joker asked as he set a box on the nightstand. "Wolfgang threw this in for free."

Harley knew logically she should be terrified of this man, but instead she was drawn to him like a bee to a flower. She had been frightened when she'd woken up to find the Joker in bed with her - yet she felt secure as well. Oh, he could kill in a second flat, maybe he would someday as he'd warned her months earlier, but Harley felt protected by him as well and she liked it.

"Should I try it on?"

He nodded. "I wanna see how it looks."

Harley flashed a tiny smile in his direction. "Okey-dokey, Big Boss Man. I need to shower first, I don't want to ruin anything."

The Joker smirked. "Good girl, I would hate to have to spank you. I'll be talking with Billy." He shut the door quietly leaving her alone.

Harley had been making some decisions of her own over the last few weeks. As she grew stronger physically, she wanted to become more and more like the Joker. He wasn't afraid of anything and she envied his audacity with all her heart. She'd spent the better part of her life so far terrified - it was going to stop.

She made her way to the little bureau by the door and rifled through her panty drawer until her fingers connected with the two boxes she was looking for. Pulling them out, Harley stared at the hair dyes with a critical eye. Billy had picked them up for her, a strange look in his eyes at her request.

Padding into the bathroom, Harley stopped in front of the mirror and gazed at herself critically.

"The last vestiges of Harleen Quinzel have to go." Harley murmured as she fingered her strawberry blonde locks.

_'Harleen...'_

Blue eyes widening, Harley turned toward the door.

Bree stood there with a scowl. _'Harleen, what are you doing?'_

Harley frowned at the tiny girl. "I'm not Harleen anymore - I'm Harley, Harley Quinn."

_'No. This is bad - you're gonna get in trouble.'_ Bree's somber words echoed off the bathroom tiles, hollow in Harley's ears.

"You're dead, Bree," Harley began quietly as she fumbled opening the hair dyes. "Dead, dead, dead. Go away and leave me be."

_'I'm not dead.'_ Bree answered patiently.

Harley wanted to scream and howl as _**Harleen's**_ pain and uncertainty came creeping back to her; memories surfacing that were better left unexamined. She took a deep breath and faced the doorway where her four year old sister stood with solemn eyes.

"Yes, Bree, you died with Mommy, Daddy, Andy, and Pat." Harley spoke tenderly. "Why are you here? Can't you just leave me alone?"

Bree stared at Harley a moment before speaking. _'I've always been with you. Remember? When those men at the hospital tried to hurt you, I was there. In that dirty room they locked you in, I was there. I'll __**always**__ be here. Harleen.'_

Harley turned back to the mirror. "You have to go away, Bree. I can take care of myself now."

At the silence which answered, she turned toward the door and relief rushed over her.

Bree was gone.

Turning her attention toward the dyes, Harley began to hum Nirvana's _Heart Shaped Box_.

----------

"What do you think?"

The Joker had been waiting for nearly two hours - it was pissing him off. He turned his attention from the GCN program he was watching hosted by that moron, Mike Engel, and felt his mouth go dry instantly.

Harley Quinn stood just outside the door to his bedroom.

He blinked and stood as shock leeched through his body; turning him numb. This was most certainly _**not**_ the Harley he had spent the last few months molding.

The woman standing before him was... _beautiful_ beyond all comprehension.

She wore a fitted scarlet and white pinstriped silk blouse with long sleeves and a deep vee which made her small cleavage appear quite - voluptuous - and a matching scarlet satin corset around her waist which was tied up the front with black laces. The ebony colored A-line skirt she wore ended about two inches above the knee and was constructed from the same heavy, expensive wool as his pants which would lend some practicality to her outfit. Black nylons with a diamond design disappeared into a pair of knee-high black leather boots with a petite heel which gave the illusion of a spike, but the stability she would need to run. Scarlet leather gloves, elegantly stitched _H's_ on the backs, fit snugly on her tiny hands completed the outfit.

Harley hadn't simply changed her clothing - she had changed her entire physical appearance and this captivated the Joker.

Her once lovely strawberry blonde hair had been dyed raven black on the right side and scarlet red on the left. She had gathered her hair into pigtails and the effect was not unlike some psychotic little girl deciding to play dress up. Harley had gone one step further and made up her face with his grease paint...

Chalk white base covered her creamy skin with a small, perfectly spherical red circle on each cheek. Harley had emphasized her diamond shaped scar by painting it black and simply lining her other eye with black; the effect made her eyes stand out like cold, blue jewels. She painted her lips the same color as his, but accentuating a line on each side which gave her a tiny frown he found ironic and charming.

This was not Harleen Quinzel - this was his _Harley Quinn_.

_"I like it,"_ The Joker muttered as he circled her like a lion closing in for the kill. "I like it a lot. Very, very _good-uh."_

Harley smiled up at him and the painted frown gave her an eerie innocence which he enjoyed - the expression would be both creepy and upsetting to most _normal_ citizens of Gotham.

"Thank you." Harley bobbed in a little curtsey.

The Joker chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment; his eyes narrowing. "Get back in the bedroom." Harley's smile faltered. "Are you deaf?" He hissed angrily. "Go. Into. The. Bedroom."

She looked confused but did as he asked.

He turned and flashed a glower in Billy's direction. "Everyone out. Now."

Billy closed his laptop and stood. "Sure thing, Boss."

Shaking his head, the Joker turned and went into the bedroom. He threw the locks into place and leaned his back against the door. Harley was perched on the edge of the bed - her face cast down toward the floor - looking for all the world like an abandoned doll.

Something had roared to life inside of him when the Joker had seen Harley Quinn all decked out in her finest; feelings he thought long dead began to crawl around in his chest like maggots on road kill. _'Sure,'_ he thought. _'I've screwed women before - every last one bribed with a nice wad of cash - but still. I know what lust is...'_

Confusion set in.

The urge to rip off her panties and screw her silly warred with the part of him which was determined to protect Harley. Oh there was lust in the Joker for her, but there was also a feeling which sickened him down to the marrow of his bones.

The Joker _**cared**_ about Harley.

He blinked. "It isn't true."

"What?"

The fear and uncertainty in her wavering voice brought him back to reality.

The Joker reached in his jacket and fingered his favorite knife as he rested dark, calculating eyes on the woman seated across from him. He knew exactly what _should_ be done - he should cut her throat quickly and as painlessly as possible. Dispose of her _before_ she became a liability.

He released the knife with a sense of self-loathing he'd never experienced before. The Joker couldn't make himself kill Harley as much as he wanted to rid himself of what he realized would be not only his ace in the hole, but his Achilles Heel.

"Stand up," he ordered.

Harley immediately did as he asked.

The Joker approached her carefully as though she were made of glass. "Don't look so downtrodden, _sugar_. As you know, I don't like a long face." Immediately she flashed a _very_ convincing smile in his direction. "I'm quite... pleased with how your ensemble turned out."

She brightened. "You are?"

"Yes," he nodded at her. "You're _beautiful_." The Joker breathed out the last word just as his leather clad fingertips skimmed across her temple. "We're peas in a pod - you and I."

Harley's blue eyes had grown so large they appeared in danger of popping from their sockets. "I..."

_"Hush."_ He gave the command in a soft, almost hypnotic voice as he leaned close and breathed in the scent of her skin. Harley smelled clean and vaguely floral; like the morning dew on his mother's rose bushes so long ago. His fingers traveled down the side of her neck and her delicate shiver didn't go unnoticed by his all consuming gaze.

The Joker could feel his blood beginning to heat and head straight down to a certain part of his anatomy he tended to ignore. "The only time you wear this outfit and the paint is when we go out. I like seeing your pretty skin when we're here." Taking a calming breath, he captured her hand in his. "Do you like me, Harley?"

She nodded mutely.

"Say it."

"I like you," Harley whispered.

He could feel the sincerity in her words. "Good." Licking his lips nervously, he leaned down. "How much do you like me, _peaches_?"

Harley's eyes darkened to a sultry midnight blue_, _he noted with satisfaction. _"This much, Daddy-O."_ She raised herself up to her tip-toes and grasped him by the collar before pressing her painted lips against his.

The kiss was hesitant on both sides; Harley had never kissed a boy and the Joker had never kissed a woman, not even the prostitutes would allow him that no matter how much cash he'd dangled before them.

He reveled in the sensation of her soft lips pressing against his scarred flesh - she tasted a little of mint and some indefinable spice which aroused him beyond words. His hands closed around her upper arms and held her still so he could peruse her mouth at his leisure.

The taste, the warmth, the little sexy mewling sounds escaping her throat - it was all intoxicating.

Suddenly, she ripped herself away from him and landed a sharp slap to his right cheek. Harley was breathing hard and staring at her gloved hand in shock.

The Joker, however, howled with laughter as he cradled his smarting cheek. "Was I getting too fresh for you?"

"No," she locked her eyes on his. "That was for not kissing me weeks ago."

He laughed and whipped his hand out; firmly slapping her left cheek hard enough to wipe away some of the grease paint. "And that, _pumpkin_, is for parading around like a strumpet in just your knickers and a tee shirt when I'm trying to go to sleep at night. _**Teasing**_ is not nice!"

Harley blinked and slapped the Joker's other cheek hard; her chest rising and falling faster. "_This_ is for those times I had to _watch _you all _sweaty_ in the gym!"

Most men would have been thoroughly pissed - probably pushed beyond the limits of self-control - but the Joker enjoyed her violent outburst. He was hard as a rock and his entire body felt like it was on fire; masochistic tendencies were firmly rooted in his psyche. Pleasure and pain were so entwined in his mind, he often couldn't tell the difference.

Reaching out, he grabbed one of her pigtails and yanked it until tears welled in her eyes. "Keep hitting me, Harley, and I'm gonna end up screwing your brains out." He flashed a twisted smile down at her. "Just so you can't claim I didn't warn you."

She promptly kneed him in the groin.

The Joker collapsed to his knees, hands, clutching his aching balls - laughing hysterically the entire time. "I _knew_ you had a little fight in you." He panted. "You're a _very_ naughty girl, Harley."

Harley began to ease away from him, her breathing hitched, as she pulled at the strings on her corset. "You want it," she breathed out in a soft voice as she allowed the corset to fall to the floor. "Come and get it."

He grinned.


	11. Rules of Engagement

Disclaimer: DC Comics owns everything! Semi-graphic adult situation alert.

----------

Hot, moist, and slightly bumpy, the muscle sliding back and forth through her sex was driving Harley insane.

One of the Joker's hands gripped her hip so hard she could feel the bruises starting to form; the long, elegant fingers of his other hand lightly pinched and teased each of her nipples until she wanted to beg him to stop. Face buried between her naked thighs, the Joker never stopped his coordinated ministrations.

She had undressed for him earlier - tossing her clothing aside willy nilly - and he had followed her like a panther. Harley had almost laughed at the sight of _**The Joker**_ picking up each article of her clothes and sniffing at it before hanging it in his closet lovingly.

A moan broke free from her throat as he pierced her with his tongue, again and again.

He growled low in his throat, the sound one of deep satisfaction, and increased the pace of his mouth.

Harley's back arched just as something inside her shattered...

_"OH GOD!"_

One last long, passionate lick from the bottom to the top of her sex and he pulled away from her; breathing heavily and rolling his eyes around as though he were drunk. The Joker's hair was plastered to his head with sweat and the paint on his face was mostly worn away leaving only his eyes, part of his nose, and his forehead still streaked.

"You rang?" He inquired with a manic, exhausted grin.

Harley was so weak, her body still experiencing pleasurable aftershocks, she barely had the strength to look at him. "You're still dressed."

He had pushed her back on the bed earlier and once he'd started in with his mouth... well, Harley had forgotten about _everything_. Including the fact he had never taken his clothes off and he hadn't yet received the same sort of satisfaction she had.

The Joker was on his feet in seconds, pushing his greasy hair back with both hands. "Yeah and I really need a shower before we continue, _Harls_. I smell like goat testicles."

Harley laughed. "How do you know what goat testicles smell like?"

"You'd be surprised," he giggled as he shrugged out of his jacket. "and probably disgusted so I'll keep that particular piece of knowledge all to myself." The Joker disappeared into the bathroom and lightly shut the door.

She could hear him moving around before the shower started.

Yawning, Harley got to her feet and made her way to the bathroom. The air already carried a hint of steam as she made her way to the counter. Grabbing a bathing cap, Billy had picked it up for her, she tucked her newly dyed hair up inside and headed straight for the shower.

To her surprise, the glass door slid open and a very wet Joker was staring down at her.

"Thought you might want to tidy up."

She didn't hesitate, but stepped inside.

The Joker slid the door shut behind her and handed her the shower gel she favored. "Go ahead and scrub up, _sugarlips_. I promise not to molest you."

Harley's eyes widened as they slid down his naked, very wet body.

He had scars everywhere - not just on his face!

It seemed as though the Joker had been hurt in every possible way - gunshots, stabbings, and vicious beatings had left marks across an otherwise magnificent physique. He was muscular, but in a lean, almost feline manner; no heavy bulk, just clearly defined muscles rippled across his body. The suit he wore really did hide how fit he actually was.

The Joker was busy washing his hair and didn't notice Harley's horrified perusal.

The only parts of his body free of scars were his neck, forearms, hands, feet, and genitals.

A particularly savage, ragged scar which would match his _Glasgow Smile_ quite nicely ran from his left shoulder blade and across his back to end in a deep pucker on his right buttock. This was the type of wound which landed one in the hospital - for weeks, if not months.

With a shaking hand, Harley followed the trail of abuse; feathering her fingers lightly over him until she reached his damaged buttock. Leaning her head against his shoulder, she began to gently massage the scar all the while pressing kisses over his back.

"What the hell?" The Joker asked hoarsely.

She continued to touch him as gently as she could while tears rolled down her paint streaked face. "Does it hurt?"

He had gone rigid under her fingers. "Sometimes," he conceded in a low voice. "When the temperature dips below zero or if its damp."

Harley eased herself in front of him; noting with satisfaction he was aroused again. "Do you want me to kiss you and make it all better?"

The Joker's brow rose as he stared down at her; ignoring the shampoo suds inching dangerously close to his eyes. "Harley," he pinched her nose playfully. "flattered as I am - this isn't the time or place." He immediately shoved his head under the water rinsing his hair thoroughly.

She reached out and trailed her forefinger across the turgid length of his sex. "Why not?"

Like a flash of lightening, she was pinned to the wall.

He loomed over her like some damaged version of Mars himself - his eyes glittering pits of fire. Leaning casually against his arm; he held her pinned to the shower wall by her throat. When she started to kick, struggling for air, he simply pressed himself fully against her.

"Because I said so." He spoke politely as though she were a small child. "We don't have any protection and I'm not shoving junior here into candy land until there is. I have no desire to be pulling a little Joker or Harley out of my dynamite stash. Get it?"

Harley could barely breath when he took his arm away. She nodded, gasping and rubbing her throat, tears of pain welling in her eyes. The fact he hadn't simply dropped her to the shower floor surprised her considering how angry he really was.

"Sorry," she managed a pained whisper.

The Joker touched her face gently and she winced. "C'mon," he pulled her under the spray. "Let's get you all washed up and tucked into bed, Harley."

She was amazed at the calculated efficiency - and kindness - those lithe hands of his were capable of. Harley found herself scrubbed clean in under ten minutes flat. He hummed a strange little ditty she'd never heard before as he dried her off before taking care of himself.

Lifting her into his arms, he held her close as he crossed the room and deposited her on the bed. In the blink of an eye she found herself clothed in one his gym tee shirts and tucked under the covers. He wandered around the room straightening a few out of place items before pulling on a pair of gym shorts and sitting on the edge of the bed.

The Joker leaned toward her and grinned. "Knew I forgot something... odd." He pulled off her bathing cap and stared at it. "Getting in bed with you wearing this could have proved a mite awkward; like sliding under the sheets with Granny." Pulling a face, he stood. "I'm surprised."

Catching Harley's inquiring gaze, he let out a harsh chuckle. "See after everything I've done, it shocks me I have _moral_ objections at all to any _immoral_ scenario."

"Like getting in bed with someone who reminds you of grandma." She rasped.

"Exactly."

He disappeared into the bathroom for a moment before reappearing empty handed. Lifting the covers, he slid into bed and stared up at the ceiling; making no attempt to touch her at all. "Now Harley, I'm gonna have to lay down some _very_ basic rules pertaining to our, ah, relationship."

"Okay."

Satisfied she was listening, the Joker continued. "_Never_, under any circumstances, will you put your hands on me in front of my men or out in public unless I direct you to do so. This is a very important rule to remember and its for your own protection and mine - if anyone starts to suspect you're my, uh, main _squeeze_ as it were - this could be used against me." Turning his head toward her, Harley was surprised by the frown he was wearing. "I would hate to have to kill you when I kinda like you, kiddo."

She put her hand in the air and his dark eyes widened. "This isn't third grade, Harley. You don't need to raise your hand."

"But we're sleeping in the same room together," Harley managed to push past her still tender throat.

"So?" The Joker arched one eyebrow. "Most of my men aren't the sharpest tools in the shed and they've seen me move the cot in here so I'm not too worried. Still, there are one or two besides Billy who have half a brain, and if they see us all kissey face with each other - it wouldn't be good. I have enough to worry about as it is."

Harley edged closer to him. "Like what?"

"Oh I had a guest the other night who divulged we have a _leaky_ ship." The Joker's expression turned furious before relaxing. "I just need to figure out who the rat is so I can _dispose_ of him properly." He reached out and tousled her hair. "This brings us to rule number two - don't worry about a thing, _babe_, just follow my instructions to the letter without fail."

"Are there any other rules?"

He snickered and tickled her under the chin. "No, I try not to make too many rules since I'm not so fond of following them myself - no one likes a hypocrite." The gravity in his eyes made her uneasy. "I really don't want to kill you, Harley, so I need you to mind what I'm telling you."

She nodded. "I will, I promise, Boss."

Without warning, he pulled her against him. "Good," The Joker was tense, but he relaxed slowly as he brushed her bangs away from her forehead. "When we're in here - like this - don't call me _boss_."

"No?"

"Call me Jack."

Harley stared up at him.

The Joker smirked. "Stupid, _boring_ name, I know, but if I'm banging you, I prefer hearing you say it as opposed to some others."

"I like it... Jack." She whispered.

A soft, high-pitched laugh, almost ending on a sob, broke from his chest. "Harley - you would." He shook his head and tapped her on the nose. "Go to sleep. We have _lots_ to do tomorrow."

Long after she had fallen to sleep, the Joker remained awake.

----------

Sharon Kennison was shocked at the appearance of the woman standing in front of her.

Northington Street was in a quiet, upper middle class neighborhood in the northwest portion of the city. The locals were well educated people who lived in tidy bungalows, stately Victorian homes, and graceful pre-war apartment buildings decorated with window boxes overflowing with colorful flowers. The schools were sought after, the restaurants haute cuisine, and the high end boutiques frequented by Gotham's elite.

The woman who answered the door simply didn't fit.

She was dumpy looking; frowsy dishwater blonde hair, shadowed, faded green eyes, and a deeply lined face that belied her forty-nine years. Dressed in a tattered blue sweater which had seen better days and a long, beige skirt with brown stains along the hem - she looked more like a bag lady than the purported homeowner.

"I'm looking for Peggy Elliot."

The woman eyed Sharon with distrust. "I'm Peggy Elliot. Do I know you?"

Sharon shook her head. "No, I'm Sharon Kennison..."

"The new District Attorney?" Peggy snorted. "Well lucky me! Whadd'ya want?"

"Are you Colleen Quinzel's sister?" Sharon was glad one of her assistants had offered to drive her; there was a hint of instability which lingered around the other woman.

Peggy's face turned cold; her eyes like those of a dead fish. "Yeah - sadly." She lit a cigarette and began to smoke. "So what is this all about? I haven't got all day, my husband will be home soon."

"I just wanted to ask you a few questions about what happened to your sister and her family..."

"Why?" Peggy blew out a ring of smoke. "Harleen killed 'em all."

Sharon frowned. "We believe someone else was responsible. There is DNA evidence that Joe Quinzel wasn't the biological father of any of those children; in fact none of the children had the same father. I was hoping you might be able to give me some insight as to your sister's mindset."

Peggy shook her head and laughed - a cold, bitter sound devoid of any real emotion. "A whore down in the Narrows could give you better insight on Colleen than me. Look, I gotta be honest, she was a raving slut, okay? I don't know anything more than you do."

"If you knew Colleen was unfaithful to her husband," Sharon asked quietly. "Why didn't you share that with the investigating detectives?"

Peggy rolled her eyes. "Why bother? Harleen was always a little _out there_. I figured the girl did the deed. I ain't got anything else to say so beat it." The woman ducked back into her well manicured bungalow and slammed the door in Sharon's face.

Sharon turned on her heel and returned to her assistant's car; her face set in a grave expression. _'Something is rotten in Denmark.'_

----------

"Master Wayne, are you certain the time is right for intervening?"

Bruce raised his eyes from the view his penthouse balcony afforded him and turned to face his butler. "Alfred, the Joker escaped from Arkham over three months ago and the Gotham police department seem _unable_ to find him. Should I just wait for him to start another reign of terror?"

The older man shook his head. "No, sir, but perhaps you should allow him to make the first move. You have your own freedom to consider before you go off half-cocked."

"Have I ever gone off half-cocked?" Bruce drawled, grinning.

Alfred's eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

Bruce shook his head and tried not to laugh at the annoyed expression slowly seeping over his friend's face. "Don't worry, I intend to make my main focus aiding the new DA in discovering what happened in the Quinzel case. If I can find Harleen Quinzel, I'll have the Joker."

"Sharon Kennison is a fine young woman."

Bruce ignored Alfred's deliberate hint. "She isn't Rachel."

Alfred took on a tired, defeated look upon hearing Bruce's words. "No, sir, she certainly isn't Miss Dawes, but Miss Dawes was unique. I think you would find, sir, there are other fine, unique, young women in this world who could make you happy _if_ you gave them a chance."

"A chance to be killed like Rachel?" Bruce asked sarcastically. "I think I've had quite enough, thank you. Sharon is my friend, Alfred, and she is going to remain my friend - nothing more, nothing less."

"Of course, Master Wayne."

Bruce frowned and turned his attention back out to his magnificent view of Gotham and away from the loneliness of his own heart.

----------

-A/N- Please read and review. Thank you to all those who have taken the time to review, I appreciate it! Also, thank you to all those who like the story enough to put it on your favorites/story alert lists. I'm very nervous about writing any sort of smut, so it won't be happening on a regular basis in the story. I'm going to Vermont to visit friends so my next update won't be until early next week, but it will be full of action and ass kicking!


End file.
